


Impure

by awolangel



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/F, Female Reader, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Other, POV Second Person, Pure isn't trying to actually hurt you I promise, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Sexual exploration, Vaginal Fingering, they just don't know any better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18285239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awolangel/pseuds/awolangel
Summary: An accidental discovery spirals into something far more complicated.Turns out your 'Hollow Knight' isn't quite so hollow.





	1. Tainted

**Author's Note:**

> Team Cherry, on the off-chance you're reading this, I'm sorry. I have no excuses.

 

The hollow clang of nails clashing echoes throughout the training room as you and the Pale King watch on from the sidelines.

“They get better every day, your Majesty,” you say with a touch of pride as the Knight gracefully parries another fierce blow from Dryya’s long-nail. She never was one to hold back; not even during training sessions. She considers the very thought of doing so a gross disservice, a borderline dishonor. Every successful attack and counterattack against her is one well earned.

 “Indeed they do,” the King replies steadily, claws clasped tightly behind his back, never taking his dark eyes off of the dueling pair.

“Just yesterday they managed to knock Mighty Hegemol’s nail from his claws. To say he was surprised would be an understatement.”

“Is that so? I’m sorry I missed it.”

“There is always next week, your Majesty. I’m sure the next match will be even more exciting since Hegemol will definitely be on his toes. I think he’s finally realized that he can no longer treat them with kiddy-gloves, so to speak.”

“I would imagine. Though I wish he’d never used them in the first place.”

“It is his nature, your Majesty. Hegemol’s kindness and good humor are well-known even to the common people.”

“It still has no place in the training room. The Vessel comes here to grow stronger. They cannot do that if my knights insist on fighting them with ‘kiddy gloves.’”

His sharp tone makes it clear that you’ve stepped out-of-bounds. You bow low in apology. “I apologize, your Majesty. You are right. I let my own fondness cloud my reason.”

The King sighs as he waves for you to stand. “It is understandable, I suppose. As you said, Hegemol’s kindness is well-known even outside these walls. Just do not let that fondness extend to your charge.”

Your keep your face impassive even as your stomach drops. It’s a bit too late for that, but you’re wise enough not to say as much.

“Of course not, your Majesty.” 

Deciding it best to stop talking least you rouse the irritation of your King again the rest of the visit passes without chit-chat, the metallic ringing of nails and Dryya’s increasingly heavy breathing the only sounds to fill the silence. The Knight of course looks no worse for wear; free of the light sheen of sweat that has begun to form on their teacher’s shell. Were it not for all the tradeoffs to gain it you would say that their endurance is enviable.

Suddenly, Dryya pulls back and holds up a claw. The Knight stops immediately, lowering the pointed end of their nail to rest against the marble floor as they wait for new instructions.

“I have nothing more to teach you today. Dismissed.” After a respectful parting bow to the King, Dryya turns sharply on her heel and marches out of the room, most likely to find an empty hot spring to recuperate in. You blink after her in surprise. Usually training drags on for at _least_ another half-hour more. Clearly she did not expect the Knight to master her lesson quite so quickly. The Knight turns to face you and the King, silently awaiting orders.

“Bring them to my study after they’ve recuperated. I wish to speak to them.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” you answer with a parting bow.

After the King takes his leave you gather up the Knight’s heavy white cloak and make your way down to the training floor where they wait, watching. Sometimes you wonder how much those hollow eyes really see.

“Well, come on then,” you start, motioning for them to follow you. “The hot springs aren’t going to come to us, you know.” Deep down you know teasing is lost on them, but you’ve been around them so long that it’s easy to forget.  

“You did so well today, Pure. Dryya will never say it but I’m sure she’s pleased with your progress. You really surprised her, you know. She thought it was going to take you at least a couple of lessons to get that technique down. Honestly between her and Hegemol yesterday I think it might be a good idea to bump up the monthly meeting. I mean at the rate you’re going-”

As usual the Knight just follows you silently; walking in your footsteps like a giant black and white shadow. When you’d first started working with them it had unnerved you, but as the weeks went by you learned to accept that their silence was just as much a part of them as their shell; natural and unchangeable. Though they didn’t speak they certainly listened, and the more time that went by the more you found yourself holding one-sided conversations as a way to scratch your natural social itch. You sometimes wonder just how much of your ramblings they retain but it’s a hard thing to judge considering they only seem to react to direct orders. There’s no way to know for certain what exactly goes on behind those large, blank eyes.

“Here we are,” you chirp as you come up to the door that leads to your usual private hot spring. Though the palace has several you prefer this one; its large size and out-of-the-way positioning make it a perfect choice for the Knight’s post-training soaks. Balancing the Knight’s heavy cloak under one arm, you reach out to slide the door open with the other.

…only to blush fiercely at the sight that greets you.

“Ah, it appears that we have visitors, meled’love.”

You had fully expected the hot spring to be empty. Most bugs at this time are either busy working or out to lunch. Apparently, though, Mysterious Ze’mer and her lover had decided that this was the perfect opportunity to use the springs for more…personal pleasures.

“I’m so sorry!” you immediately apologize, bowing at the waist. The Knight looks on behind you, seemingly unfazed. None of you notice the way their dark eyes focus on the claw Ze’mer has between her lover’s legs. “The Knight finished their training early! I was not aware that anyone else used this spring at this time of day!”

Her lover, who you recognize to be the Mantis Lord’s own daughter, giggles at your obvious embarrassment. Ze’mer clucks her tongue at her in gentle reproach before turning to address you. “It is an understandable mistake, Le’mer. Meled’love and I should have taken more pains to make sure the door was locked. Che’ can expect that this little mistake will be forgotten, yes?”

“Of course, my lady!” With that you quickly straighten up and turn around, coming face-to-abdomen with your charge. They’re still staring blankly into the room, completely unmoving. You wave up at them to get their attention and their gaze immediately snaps down to you. “Come on,” you hiss quietly. “It’s rude to sit and stare. We’ll use the other spring down the hall.”

Shutting the door behind you, you swiftly step around the Knight and speed-walk down the hall, the Knight following at your heels. Your face still burns like fire and you only start to relax once you’re both inside the (thankfully empty) spring with the door locked firmly behind you.

“Alright Pure, you know the drill. Hand me your nail and hop on in,” you instruct as you set their dress cloak on the nearby bench. They’ll put it back on once they’re sufficiently clean. Pure does as told, handing you their heavy weapon before slipping into the steaming waters. Though your charge successfully parried most of Dryya’s attacks they did not walk away completely unscathed. Even though you’ve witnessed it hundreds of times you can’t help but watch in amazement as the shallow cuts littering their shell immediately start to knit together and fade, leaving no visible trace that they were ever there. If only every bug could heal so easily.  

Once they’re settled you turn your attention to tending their nail. Though you are certainly no smith, you’re more than capable of basic maintenance; cleaning and polishing the weapon after every use and sharpening it once a week. Once a month you travel to the far end of the City of Tears to have the Nailsmith look it over. You take great pride in the weapon’s care and it pleases you greatly when he complements your obvious diligence during such visits.

Humming to yourself as you get lost in the familiar motions you fail to notice your charge’s uncharacteristically keen observation of the ritual. You also fail to notice the claw they slip between their legs, briefly rubbing at the smooth, blank chitin there. Several minutes pass while you work, Pure unmoving in the warm water with their dark eyes trained on you.  

“There,” you state with satisfaction, admiring your reflection in the pale ore you just polished to a gleam. You turn to your charge with a fond little grin. “Ready to go? The King wants to meet with you once you’re finished.”

Pure, of course, doesn’t reply. They just continue to watch you with those black, empty eyes. You can’t help but fidget, unnerved by the sudden scrutiny. Such focus is usually reserved for combat situations only; on learning “enemy” movement patterns and looking for opportunities to counter-attack. For them to watch anything else so intently is...highly unusual.

“It looks like you’re all healed up so why don’t you go ahead and get out of the water? I know it feels nice but we need to get you dry and dressed.”

Still, they don’t move. Your discomfort starts to grow, grin slowly falling into a frown. Whenever you give an order or make a suggestion they’re always quick to follow through. You’re…not quite sure what to do here. Maybe you just weren’t direct enough?

“Get out of the water, please.”

Still nothing.

Unease pricks at the back of your shell like the warning static of a charged lumafly. You’re not physically capable of making them do anything if they don’t want to. They’re far bigger and stronger than you are. Up until now you’d always relied on their blind obedience to get things done. Maybe if you’re a bit more forceful…

“Now.”

Your tone broaches no room for argument. Not that that they actually _can_ , but hopefully it still gets your point across.

Relief instantly floods your system as Pure finally complies, standing up before wading over to the side of the pool. You turn to grab a towel from a nearby shelf. When you turn back around you nearly run smack-dab into them, your heart hammering in your chest at the sudden proximity.

“Geez! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you chide, stepping back and holding out the towel. “Here. Dry off and get dressed. The King will get impatient if we wait much longer.”

Instead of taking the towel, however, Pure snatches your wrist. Their claw is so much bigger than your own that it easily wraps around it, squeezing hard enough to keep you in place but not quite hard enough to hurt. You drop the towel in shock, instinctively leaning back with your full weight and tugging at your trapped arm in an effort to free yourself.

“What are you doing?! Let me go! Let me go this instant!”

Once again they don’t listen, ignoring your order as their free claw travels to the clasp at your throat, snapping it open. You freeze as you feel your own cloak slip from your shoulders, feeling strangely exposed. Pure’s gaze immediately travels down to the space between your legs and you close them on instinct, face flushing with anger and embarrassment as your stomach begins to knot in fear.

“Let. Me. Go. That is an _order,_ Vessel.”

You yelp in surprise as they suddenly slip their free claw between your legs, fingers rubbing at the smooth shell there as if searching for something. You briefly consider screaming. If you were to screech at the top of your lungs chances are good Ze’mer would hear you and come running. The only thing that stops you is the knowledge that she’d tell the King. Were he to know about his Vessel’s newfound independence they’d surely be destroyed. And though you are currently frightened and upset the last thing you would wish for is their death.

One of their fingers catches on your opening and you hiss, hips bucking away from the touch. They only follow you back, long fingers gently probing until one finally manages to slip inside. You gasp and go still. Pure looks up from your slit to your face, intrigued by the sound. Slowly, almost experimentally, they pull it out before pushing it back in.

You shudder.

“Please. Please don’t. Please st-ah!” You gasp as they do it again, dark eyes trained intently on your face, taking in every minute reaction. And, gods help you, you react; breath hitching and heart pounding as your passage begins to slick in anticipation. It’s been so long since you’ve done anything like this that it takes very little to get your body going. Your job does not exactly lend itself well to pursuing personal relationships, after all. Even so it is incredibly inappropriate and you’d be angry at yourself if you weren’t already overwhelmed with confusion and fear and growing arousal.

Suddenly, Pure pulls out and lifts their finger to their face, silently studying the wet sheen left there before rubbing it between their thumb to feel the texture. Embarrassment once again creeps up your shell, face flushing hotter with your shame. You try to tug your arm away thinking maybe this nightmare is finally over, that your charge’s uncharacteristic curiosity is finally satisfied but their grip doesn’t slacken. A thousand thoughts run through your head, desperately trying to pinpoint the reason for this sudden interest. What could have possibly sparked it? What was so different about today? Besides ending early training had gone as usual so what-

Then it hits you.

_Ze’mer._

Pure must be imitating their teacher. They just don’t know any better. What you know to be an act of passion must have seemed like some strange new training exercise to them. The thought makes you relax a bit.

“You’re just imitating Ze’mer, aren’t you?”

Pure once again focuses their attention on you, head tilting at the familiar name.

“What you saw in the hot spring wasn’t training, Pure. It was ah…how do I put this? They were, um…expressing their affection for each other. You see, when two bugs love each other deeply they sometimes express that love physically by giving each other pleasure. It’s a very intimate, private thing and we weren’t really supposed to see it.”

Pure just continues to stare at you, head cocked and claw still wrapped around your wrist. You scratch sheepishly at the back of your neck with your free claw, unsure of just how much they really understand.

“So, um…yeah. It’s not really something you need to worry about. It has nothing to do with your training so you don’t have to practice what you saw on me, okay? So please let me go and we can just forget this ever happened.”

 Still, they stare. A few moments pass in awkward silence as you once again begin to fidget, gently trying to tug your arm away from their iron grip.

“Um, Pure? Let me go, please.”

You move your free claw to tug at the one wrapped around your trapped wrist, hoping to pry it off as gently as possible.

In the moment, it doesn’t occur to you that this is the first time you’ve ever truly touched them. Up until now your physical contact had been limited to brief, accidental brushes as you handed them things or helped them straighten up their cloak. Other than that you had no need or reason to ever come into such close contact.

In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have touched them at all after what you just told them.

You yelp as Pure suddenly tugs you forward, gracelessly tripping over your own feet as you stumble into them. Your free claw immediately scrambles for purchase, flattening against their abdomen to keep you from face-planting into it instead.

“What in Hallownest has gotten into you?! Why are you- _oh_.”

Heat instantly floods your face as the claw in your charge’s grip suddenly finds itself pressed flat between their legs, their dark eyes looking down at you almost…expectantly?

Oh.

Oh no.

How in wyrm’s name are you supposed to handle this? You never imagined them to be capable of such things. Most everything outside of training and direct orders seemed to pass right through them; any thoughts or emotions drowned in silence and void black eyes before they could take root. You didn’t expect your explanation to stick, much less process. This is all far too much, far too fast.

 “Pure, I…I…” you falter. “I can’t. This is wrong. This was never supposed to happen. Gods, it shouldn’t even be _possible_. I…” you swallow to ease the sudden dryness of your mouth. “I think it’d be best if we just forgot this whole mess ever happened.”

They don’t move; just continue to stare silently down at you.

“I’m sorry, I…I care about you, I do. But I’m not s _upposed_ to. And you’re certainly not supposed to care about…well, anything really. Look, just…just forget everything that happened after training today, okay? I’m sure you can if you – ah!”

Their claw suddenly returns to its previous place between your legs, long fingers easily sliding back into your still-damp slit before gently starting to thrust.

“Oh! Oh gods!” you gasp, hips bucking involuntarily as your claws curl against their shell. Pure shivers, their own hips bucking back against your touch. Through the haze building in your mind you wonder how they’re able to feel anything at all. They don’t have a slit of either kind; nothing but smooth, hard shell between their legs.    

You don’t get to ponder on it long as Pure suddenly picks up the pace, black eyes trained intently on your face. Despite yourself you react, throwing your head back with a strangled cry as you grasp at them for purchase. Pure shudders violently, fingers curling inside you as they desperately grind against your claw. That’s all it takes to send you toppling over the edge, body seizing as your mouth drops open in a silent, final cry.

Pure keeps going, fingers pumping at a rough, steady pace. You quickly become over-sensitive, body twitching and jerking with every thrust as you come back to your senses. Wincing, you grab at their wrist, desperately wanting them to stop.

“P-please stop. You’re hurting me.”

Pure stops immediately, withdrawing completely as they recognize the grimace on your face as one of discomfort. They let go of your wrist, too, watching silently as you slowly sink down to sit on the cool tile floor.

What in wyrm’s name just happened?

Shame and horror begin to seep in, burning like cold fire through your veins and quickly chasing away any lingering pleasure. Should you tell someone? March right up to the King and tell him his perfect Vessel is tarnished? Your heart seizes at the thought. To say he’d be furious would be the understatement of the millennia. Pure would have to be destroyed. Years of training wasted.

And all of the blame would fall on you.

You’ve been Pure’s handler for _years._ The very moment they were able to wield a nail competently on their own they were put under your direction. When they aren’t training or with the King himself they’re with _you_. You have no doubts that their sudden autonomy will be considered your fault.

At best you’ll be exiled; banished from ever setting foot in Hallownest again for as long as you live. At worst…

At worst you won’t be allowed to live at all.

Either way Pure would wind up dead.

You take a deep breath, curling your claws into fists as you will them to stop shaking.

“Sit down, Pure.”

They sit.

They’re so tall that even sitting hunched over they tower over you. You motion for them to come closer and they comply, leaning in without hesitation. Ever so gently you take their face in your claws, bringing it down so that you can stare directly into their void-black eyes.

“Listen to me very carefully, Pure. I _need_ you to remember this. You can _not_ do what you just did, what w _e_ just did, to _anyone else_. Not your teachers, not the guards, and especially not the King. Do not directly touch them unless instructed to. Do not touch _anyone_. If…if you ever feel like you absolutely have to touch someone like that again you come to me and me only, understand?”

Silence and a hollow, unblinking stare are your only reply.

Then slowly, almost hesitantly, they raise their claws. You watch quietly as they slowly bring them to your face, gently cupping your jaw in their massive palms. A dull ache tugs at your heart.

“Good. Now go rinse off. The King is no doubt wondering what’s taking us so long.”

As you watch them lumber back into the hot spring you take a moment to gather your bearings; compartmentalizing everything as best you can to process later in the quiet privacy of your room. As you move to re-fasten your cloak a sick, uneasy feeling begins to settle at the bottom of your stomach.

What if you’re making the wrong choice?

You promptly shove that thought to the back of your mind with all the others, motioning for Pure to come back to you and handing them a towel. You gather up their cloak as they dry off, already thinking up believable excuses for your tardiness.

“Here, put this back on,” you order, holding out their cloak.

Instead of taking it from you, however, they bend down closer to your height and stare; black eyes boring into your own. You blink back in surprise.

“You want me to…put it on for you?”

They tilt their head in response, leaning in a bit closer.

They haven’t needed your help putting on their cloak since they were an adolescent.

You almost point that out, but quickly decide against it. It’ll be much faster to just play along. Quickly throwing it around their shoulders you waste no time fastening it; fingers brushing against their neck as you straighten everything out. Pure shivers at the touch. You promptly pull back, stomping down the flood of emotion that threatens to resurface.

“Alright, big guy. Grab your nail and let’s go. The King probably won’t be too happy when we see him so just let me do all the talking, alright?” you half-joke with a crooked smile. Pure briefly touches their forehead to your own before turning to grab their weapon, your heart fluttering despite your best efforts to rein it in. In that moment you’re sure not telling the King is the right choice. You know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you did.

If only you’d known that death would’ve been the kinder option. 


	2. Ache

_Large claws trail lightly down your sides, comforting and familiar. It’s also slightly ticklish. You can’t help but giggle as you shiver at the touch. Your lover repeats the motion, head tilting in amusement as you shiver and giggle again._

_“You’re a tease, you know that? How would you like it if I did this to you?” you ask playfully._

_Hands answer you instead of words, your lover’s claws eagerly wrapping around your own. They gently pull them forward, placing your palms flat against their chest. Void black eyes look at you expectantly._

_“If you insist,” you tease, fingers trailing lightly down to their abdomen. You smirk as they shudder; gently raking your claws back up their sides. You love how reactive they are, how sensitive. It’s such a turn-on._

_You repeat the motion a few more times before leaning forward to bury your face in the crook of their neck. Pure’s claws grip tightly at your hips as you add your mouth to the mix; shudders intensifying as you lick and nip and kiss. It doesn’t take much to get them going._

_You decide to spice things up a bit, mouth kissing down their throat to their chest to their abdomen before moving lower still…_

You wake before you reach your destination.

You groan as you come to, scrubbing your claws over your face as you sit up in your bed. You pull back the covers and scowl. Looks like you’ll need to wash your sheets.

Again.

These dreams are starting to become a real nuisance.

They’ve been plaguing you for _weeks_ now. Not long after the…incident…in the hot spring you started having them. They were infrequent at first; a minor inconvenience to be brushed off and ignored. Now, though, you have them almost every night. And almost every morning you wake up flushed and sticky and flustered. It’s embarrassing. It’s degrading. It’s highly inappropriate.

It’s…becoming distracting.

Surprisingly, Pure hasn’t tried touching you again. At least not like _that_. Oh, there have been minor touches here and there; brief caresses and forehead bumps when nobody was around to see but nothing nearly as severe as that time in the hot spring. The experience understandably altered your perception of your charge and flipped your entire paradigm on its head but for the most part you could ignore it. The lack of subsequent “incidents” made it easy enough to pretend that nothing had happened so you could go about your routines as normal.

Then the dreams started.

You’d brushed them off at first. Of course you’d dream about it. It was always in the back of your head; replaying over and over like a particularly stubborn ear-worm. It was just your mind’s way of sorting through all your conflicting emotions. The dreams would stop in time. You just had to let them run their course.

But they didn’t stop.

And the longer they went on the more they changed. Your dream-self soon went from being a passive victim to an active participant; from forced pleasure to sweet, eager touches. What had started as a step-by-step replay of that day’s events had quickly morphed into something far more complicated.

It’s hard to look at Pure now without thinking about them; every interaction with them tainted by your dreams. As wrong as it is you can’t help but see your charge in a new light.

You let out a long-suffering sigh as you rip the sheets off your bed and throw them in the dirty clothes hamper. You try not to dwell on the annoyance of having to wash them again so soon as you shuffle over to your modest bathroom, quickly using the toilet before washing up at the sink and brushing your teeth.

You glance at your living room clock as you come out, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Looks like you overslept. All the waking up throughout the night is unfortunately catching up to you. If you leave right now you’ll just barely make it in time.

You sigh again as you go to dig a clean white cloak out of your wardrobe.

Best not keep the King and your charge waiting.

****************************************

The halls are empty as you make your way towards the King’s private study. It’s early enough that most bugs are still asleep; not due to wake for another half hour or so. You take advantage of the quiet to pull yourself together, shoving the residual thoughts and feelings left over from your dream to back of your mind where they’re easier to ignore. Instead, you focus on your tasks for the day ahead. Pure has training with Ogrim at 9 and then with Isma at noon. A quick glance at your calendar showed that you were due for your monthly trip to the Nailsmith today. Another glance at your and Pure’s combined laundry was proof that you couldn’t put off wash day any longer. Then there were the reports that needed delivering to Lurien, who would in turn give you his own reports to deliver, and then on to Monomon who would give you _her_ reports…

…all for the King who would just sigh wearily and wave for you to leave them on his desk.

You groan as you massage your temples.

At least you don’t have to make a trip to Deep Nest this time.

You pass between the two Kingsmoulds stationed just outside your destination. They don’t even spare you a glance as you walk by; standing stock-still as they stare straight ahead. Before, you used to wonder if they were somehow even more hollow than your charge. After the…incident…you no longer wonder.

You shake your head of the thought before turning into the large, empty room that serves as the King’s personal training grounds. The air grows noticeably warmer as you step through the threshold; the smell of burnt ozone assaulting your nose and the unmistakable static-buzz of recently discharged spells prickling at your shell. Pure is standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving and hands still glowing white-hot with magic. The sheen of sweat covering their shell is visible even from your considerable distance. The King stands off to the side, arms crossed as he studies his Vessel. Pure’s nail rests against the wall behind him, their cape folded neatly on the floor next to it.

“Again,” the King states flatly, body momentarily shining brighter. You watch as two Kingsmoulds seemingly materialize out of thin air, their bodies composed entirely of shimmering white magic. Pure immediately shifts into a defensive stance, body tensing as they crouch. You wisely choose to step back to stand just outside the doorway.

The false Kingsmoulds split off, each moving to attack from a different side. You pay them only the barest of attention; choosing instead to focus on your charge.

Even in their exhaustion you know they are a force to be reckoned with.

The false Moulds are fast, seemingly zipping in-and-out of existence as they disappear and reappear right behind their target.

But Pure is faster.

Every swipe of the Kingsmoulds’ curved blades meet with nothing but air, your charge teleporting out of the way just in time. Pure spends the brief moments between teleports studying their movements; void-black eyes trained on their forms as they follow their enemies’ every minute action. Not a single twitch or turn escapes their notice. Their hand begins to glow white-hot.

The first of the false Moulds falls; caught by one of Pure’s rapid-fire Shining Daggers before it can teleport away. The thing simply disintegrates out of existence; lingering sparks of white magic the only indication it was ever there.

The second proves to be more of a challenge.

Pure sends another round of Daggers its way but the thing is just too fast; teleporting out of harm’s way at the last millisecond. It reappears right behind your charge, curved blade poised to strike. Faster than you can comprehend Pure whirls around, another Shining Daggers attack flying right towards the Mould’s face. The thing vanishes again, this time reappearing at a distance to throw a boomerang attack at its target while their back is still turned.

You just barely manage to bite your tongue, reigning in the instinctive urge to cry out to Pure in warning. The King would definitely not take lightly to your interference.

Luckily it isn’t needed.

Pure instinctively teleports away, the curved sword slicing harmlessly through thin air as it returns to its thrower. Just as it hits the Mould’s palm Pure reappears right over its head; a longnail of pure magic crackling in their claws. They waste no time, immediately slamming straight down into the unsuspecting Mould. Columns of bright, shining Lances shoot up from the tiled floor, taller than their creator and sharper than sin before disintegrating almost as fast as they had appeared. All that remains after the spell dissipates is your charge, hunched over and breathing even heavier than before.

Well, that certainly didn’t take very long.

You move to step inside the room when movement catches your eye.

The false Kingsmould.

You watch in growing horror as the thing lunges at your vulnerable charge. Pure just continues to stand there with their chest heaving and sweat dripping off their face, seemingly too exhausted to move. Your mouth opens before you can stop yourself.

A near-deafening explosion drowns out your warning cry, your eyes suddenly burning as the room fills with blinding white light. Heat flashes across your shell, hot enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to burn. Several smaller explosions sound as you shut your eyes tight, arms instinctively moving to cover your face.

Silence follows. If it wasn’t for the ringing in your ears you would fear you had gone deaf.

 “Ah, you’re just in time. The Vessel and I were just finishing their training for today.”

Slowly, you uncover your face, eyes cracking open to see the King watching you with eyes crinkled in amusement. Pure looks up from where they’re slumped on the floor, immediately perking at the sight of you.

You pray the King didn’t notice. 

“So I see. Good morning, Your Majesty,” you croak in greeting, bowing at the waist.

“And to you as well,” he replies, waving you over as you straighten from your bow. You immediately comply, moving to stand at a polite distance from your ruler. Pure pulls themselves up off the floor but otherwise doesn’t move. 

“Tell me your schedule,” the king states, clasping his claws behind his back.

You reply, “The Vessel has training with Ogrim today at 9 and then with Isma at noon. Their nail is also due for its monthly inspection by the Nailsmith. After that I will travel to the Watcher’s Spire to pick up Lurien’s reports and then to the Archives to get Monomon’s.”

“Which reports?”

“I believe Lurien’s are mostly in regards to the Tram project in Deepnest. Apparently neither Herrah nor her subjects are too keen on the idea. As for Monomon’s, I heard that she has made headway on those spells you wanted her to research.”

The King sighs, rubbing between his eyes. “At least one of them contains good news. Very well. Be on your way, then.”

You give him a low parting bow.

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” You wave for Pure to follow you as you go to gather their cloak and nail. They immediately obey, staggering over to stand behind you as you move to grab their things. You internally frown. You haven’t seen them this worn out since the King first taught them how to use magic. Hopefully a nice, long soak in the hot springs will bring them back to form before their next training session.

“One more thing before you go.”

You instantly stop what you’re doing and turn to face your King. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“The Vessel is to stay with you for the next few nights. After looking over the reports I will be busy in my workshop and won’t have the time to work with them. Bring them by again at the end of the week. I should be able to resume their training by then.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” you reply steadily despite the sinking feeling in your gut.

The order is nothing new. Every so often the King gets caught up in a political affair or personal project and simply doesn’t have the time to spare for training. During such events it’s just easiest for Pure to stay with you so that you can keep them on track with their other training sessions. It’s just…you haven’t had to watch them like this since before the incident. You know their presence in your personal quarters will only make the dreams you’ve been having worse.

You push the worry to the back of your mind. You have work to do.

Pure still seems a bit unsteady on their feet so you choose to carry their things yourself, slinging their nail over your shoulder and bundling their cloak and scabbard under your other arm.  Luckily the hot springs aren’t too far from here. These things start to feel heavy after carrying them around like this for very long. 

You don’t notice the way the King’s dark, curious eyes follow you out.

******************

The morning passes quickly. After a long (and blessedly uneventful) soak in the hot springs Pure was back to top form. You managed to squeeze in a quick breakfast before dragging them with you to take care of the unseemly laundry pile growing in your closet. Training went off without a hitch, though you often caught yourself drifting into daydreams about your charge as you watched them. Those claws and their long, beautiful fingers gripping your thighs instead of that nail. Those strong, slender legs pressing snuggly against yours. Those mysterious, void-black eyes gazing deeply into your own.

“Is everything alright, dear?”

You nearly jump out of your shell. Mentally shaking yourself out of your stupor, you look up to see Isma staring down at you; her brow drawn in mild worry. Pure stands a little ways behind her, dark eyes watching you intently. You flush in embarrassment, praying your face isn’t too obviously red.

“Oh! Yes, everything is fine. Why do you ask, my lady?”

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Our training session finished a few moments ago.”

Your eyes immediately look to the clock above the door. Three minutes after three. But they had just started a few minutes ago, hadn’t they? Wyrm, where was your head today?

“I also couldn’t help but notice that you did not seem to be watching our sparring with as much… enthusiasm as usual,” she continues. “Is something troubling you? You are not usually one to be so distracted.”

Well, your face is definitely red _now_. You demurely bow your head in an attempt to hide it. “I sincerely appreciate your concern, my lady, but I promise it’s nothing. I was merely thinking about the rest of my tasks for today. I’m sorry I got distracted by them instead of focusing on the Vessel’s training.”

She waves her hand as if brushing off your concerns. “No need to apologize, dear. It happens to the best of us. We worked on defensive techniques and posture today so if the King asks you can tell him that the Vessel did as exceedingly well as usual.”

You grin as you stand up and give her a polite bow. “I will, my lady. Thank you.”

When you straighten back up her eyes are still on you, though now they are noticeably more serious, more searching. “If something ever does trouble you, however, know that you can always talk to me.  I may not look it but I have been around for a long time. I have found that sound advice and a sympathetic ear can go a long way towards easing them.”

Your heart squeezes uncomfortably in your chest. As much as you would love to take her up on that offer you know that you can’t. Isma is intelligent and highly perceptive. Even if you spoke of your problem in a round-about way you have no doubts that she’d figure out who you were _really_ referring to. No, even as kindly as she is she can never know of this. Her duty to her King and kingdom would ultimately tromp her empathy and both you and Pure would be ruined.

You bow your head once more. “Thank you for the offer, lady Isma. It truly means a lot to me.”

“Take care of yourself, dear. If you ever decide to take me up on it you know where to find me.”

And with that she takes her leave.

You sigh, shoulders losing a bit of the tenseness you had unwittingly built up.  Pure tilts their head, the hand not holding their nail twitching towards you for a brief moment before going still at their side. You shake your head as you turn and gather up their cloak. It’s far too risky to let them touch you here.

“Alright, big guy. Let’s get going.”

*****************************

After another quick soak in the hot springs you leave Pure to wait in your personal quarters with Marissa’s latest record playing. After hesitating a moment you leave them some books, too, though you’re not one hundred percent sure they can even read. Ever since you started handling them their schedule has pretty much exclusively focused on physical and magical training. Never on reading or writing or science or mathematics. But by the time you took over they were already teenaged and you weren’t privy to much of their life before, so there was a chance that they could. You’ve read out loud to them the past few times they stayed with you and they seemed content enough with that. But then again they had seemed content enough with everything up until…

You shake your head.

_Focus._

You still have things to do. You can’t afford to space out again.

With that firmly in mind you step into the city guards’ barracks. The secretary takes one glace at you and waves you on before going back to her paperwork.

The sounds of shouted commands and clanging nails echoing off the walls lets you know that everyone not on duty is most likely in the training room. You stride to the massive room at the end of the hall, dragging open one of the heavy doors to poke your head in. Sure enough, the bug you’re looking for is here. As if all that shouting could possibly be anyone else.

“Vera! What did I tell you about keeping a tighter grip on your nail, girl?! And choke up on the handle a couple inches! Otherwise you’re just begging for the other guy to knock it out of your claw! And Avens! Widen your stance, you dense boy! Do you WANT to get knocked on your ass?!”

You can’t help but stifle a grin as you sidle up to stand next to the Commander.

“New recruits?” you ask casually.

The Commander, far too experienced to be startled by something as simple as an unexpected visitor, just sighs as he crosses his arms.

“Aye. And they’re greener than the Queen’s own gardens. It’s going to be a long process to whip this group into shape.” He turns to look down at you then, glancing at the longnail strapped to your back before meeting your eyes.

“That time already, eh?” he asks rhetorically.

You nod. “Time passes quickly when you’re busy, it seems. I also need to stop by the Watcher’s Spire and the Archives this time so I’ll need your guard a bit longer than usual. Is that alright?”

He waves your question away with a claw. “Of course it’s alright. They’ll stay with you as long as you need. Now let’s see here…” he trails off, scanning the room for a potential candidate.

“Cycas!” he suddenly barks. “Front and center!” 

“Yes sir!” A huge bug answers as he scrambles over from where he was sparring with another equally huge bug, a large nail in one hand and a shell-shield in the other. A Great Sentry, then.

“Don’t you think he’s a bit…overkill?” you ask the Commander under your breath before the guard reaches you. Normally you were assigned a regular or Winged Sentry.

“If you were just staying in the City, then yes, he would be,” the Commander replies quietly, glancing down at you. “But you mentioned you were going to the Archives. The City may be clean of the Infection but beyond that…well, let’s just say that it doesn’t hurt to be safe.”

Right.

The Infection.

You knew of it, of course, how could you not, but being surrounded by the safety of the Palace walls made it easy to forget. The last attack you’d heard about had happened months ago and it had been all the way up near the Crossroads. You remember hearing tales about the attacker’s sickly orange eyes, the way they shambled around like a living corpse until someone got too close and then suddenly they _snapped_ and poured all their strength into kill, kill, _kill…_

You shudder.

It really wouldn’t hurt to be safe.

The guard you now know to be Cycas halts in front of the Commander. He gives you a cursory glance before stiffly snapping to attention.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“I did. Cycas, this is _________. She is a personal retainer to the King.  You are to protect her while she travels through the City and the Archives. You are not to stop or leave your given duty until she is safely back here. Is that understood?” the Commander explains, dead serious.

“Understood, sir!” Cycas replies briskly, giving the Commander a brief salute.

“Good. I expect you to be on your best behavior. You are to treat her with the upmost respect.”

“Of course, sir!”

You roll your eyes, a fond smile tugging at your mouth. “I’m sure he’ll behave himself just fine, Commander. All of my guards have been nothing but professional. You’ve trained them well.” 

The Commander waves off your compliment but you know that he’s pleased by the way he straightens to stand just a bit taller. “You don’t know these knuckleheads like I do. It doesn’t hurt to remind them how to act around a lady.”

You grin at his minor over protectiveness. You’ve known the Commander for over a decade, now; as long as you’ve been a retainer. Any time an assignment required you to traipse around Hallownest you came to him first.

 “Of course. Anyway, I need to get going,” you say after a glance at the clock. “Thank you, Commander. We should be back by late evening.”

“Give the Nailsmith my regards,” the Commander replies with a nod. “He really outdid himself on that last batch of nails he sent us.”

“Will do. Good luck with your new recruits,” you say as you turn to leave.

“Thanks. I’m probably going to need it,” he replies wearily, turning back to watch his guards train.

He watches as Vera’s nail goes flying out of her claw after a near-successful swipe at Avens, who in turn stumbles back before falling on his ass from the blow. The Commander lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching between his eyes. 

“…And quite possibly a drink, too.”

*****************************

The trip to the Nailsmith is a pleasant one.

You have always loved the City of Tears. It looks like nothing else in Hallownest, with its towering skyscrapers of thick, sheer glass and intricate wrought-iron architecture. The perpetual rain just adds to it; the raindrops on the glass sparkling like millions of tiny lumaflies as they reflect the warm light from the City’s lanterns. Your spell-enhanced cloak is waterproof, keeping you warm and dry as you make your way down the glistening stone streets. Cycas, like all the guards, seems completely unbothered by the rain. You can only assume that their armor is waterproof, too. 

The quiet pitter-patter of gentle rain is so soothing you wish you could capture it on a record to listen to while you fall asleep. You breathe deeply, taking in the strangely comforting scent of wet concrete. You really wish you could bring Pure along on these visits. Something tells you that they’d enjoy the City as much as you do, albeit in their own quiet way.

Your heart aches at the thought.

Distraction. You need distraction.

“So how long have you been with the City Guard, Cycas?” you ask conversationally, glancing back at him over your shoulder. He’s fairly young, you can tell that much. Probably only a few years younger than you.

“A year next week, miss,” he answers politely.

You baulk. “A whole _year_? How is it I haven’t met you before?  I come by the barracks at _least_ once a month!”

He shrugs. “I’m usually posted to patrol in the afternoons, but one of the morning guards got sick so I’ve  been filling in for him.”

“I see. Well it’s nice to meet you, Cycas.”

“The pleasure is mine, miss.”

You grin at his formal politeness. “Don’t let what the Commander said about being on your best behavior influence you _too_ much. At least not with me. It fine for us to carry on a conversation if you want.”

He glances down at the longnail on your back, clearly curious, before quickly looking back up.

“You can ask me about it,” you offer. “I don’t mind.”

His face flushes, clearly embarrassed about being caught. Clearing his throat, he asks. “Is, uh, is that _your_ nail, miss?”

 You shake your head. “It actually belongs to the King. I just bring it to the Nailsmith for maintenance since he’s obviously too busy.” That was the “official” story you told those who asked, anyway. If you mention that it belongs to one of the Great Knights then the questioner would inevitably want to know which one. That would just complicate things.

Cycas’ eyes grow wide. “The King is a nailwielder?”

You grin at his obvious wonder. “Not really, no. He prefers to stick to spells and soul magic. This bad boy here is mostly a statement piece,” you answer, reaching back to pat the hilt for emphasis. Luckily the scabbard hides most of the blade, covering up the normal wear-and-tear that regular practice inflicts on it.

Cycas deflates a little, clearly a bit disappointed. “I see. It does seem to be a beautiful blade.”

_What a waste._

If you didn’t know better you would agree with the underlying thought. A nail this fine deserves to be used, not set on a pedestal and hawked as a useless trophy. You change the subject.

“So how new are those recruits of yours, exactly? The Commander seems to think they’re going to be a real handful.”

The deep roll of Cycas’ eyes tells you that you’re in for an earful. You grin as he launches into his first tale.

***********************

Pleasant conversation makes the long walk to the Nailsmith’s hut seem short and before you know it you’re standing outside his door.

“Would you mind waiting out here for me, please?” you ask Cycas as you knock. “It would be a bit cramped with all of us in there at once.”

A quick once-over of the Nailsmith’s extremely modest home confirms your statement to be true. Cycas nods, taking up guard just beside the door. You hear the click of a lock being turned just before it opens.

“Ah, I was just wondering where you were. Come in, come in. Let’s have a look at that nail,” the Nailsmith greets, waving for you to follow him in. You do so, making sure to close the door firmly behind you.

As soon as it’s locked you turn and unsheathe Pure’s longnail from your back, carefully holding it out in both claws for the Nailsmith to take. He does so almost reverently, eyes moving along the blade as he does a quick once-over.

“As usual your upkeep is superb. No other nail that crosses my forge is kept in such fine condition,” he says, gently running his fingers along the edge. You puff up a little at the praise.

“Such fine Nailwork deserves it, sir,” you say, offering some praise of your own.

“Indeed, though it seems to be seeing more use than usual,” he states, fingers pausing on a small chip in the metal.

You nod. “It is. It holds up to at least six hours of rigorous training a day, now.”

“I see. In that case I will see what I can do to reinforce it a bit. Come back in about four hours. I should have it ready by then.”

 “Will do, sir.”

And with that you turn and make your way back outside.

Cycas blinks at you in surprise. “That was quick.”

You begin to walk back towards the heart of the city, gesturing for him to follow as you answer. “He’s going to make some upgrades to it. Told me to come back in about four hours. We can go pick up the reports while he works.”

The rest of the trip passes in a busy blur; the long stretches of walking and Stag rides broken up only by your meetings with the Watcher and Monomon. Lurien barely looks away from his telescope long enough to trade reports, his butler exchanging more pleasantries with you than his master does. Luckily the trip to Mononmon’s Archives is far more pleasant. Both she and Quirrel are as genuinely pleasant and hospitable as ever. The Teacher even tries to rope you and Cycas into staying for dinner, despite your polite protests to the contrary. You really don’t want to impose, after all.

“Nonsense,” she starts, waving away your objections with a tentacle. “We seldom receive visitors these days and Wyrm knows you yourself rarely get opportunities to properly socialize with other bugs,” she says, giving you a pointed look.

You concede.

Late evening finds you back at the Nailsmith’s door, claw wearily wrapping against it. You’re sure you’ll sleep well tonight. Hopefully you’ll be far too tired to even dream.

You barely manage to pull your claw back before it swings open, the Nailsmith standing tall and bright-eyed in the doorway. “There you are! I finished your blade over two hours ago. I’m sure you’ll be quite pleased with the results,” he states proudly, moving to the side to let you in. Cycas takes his position outside the hut as you head inside, eager to see what has the Nailsmith so (relatively) worked up.

You almost don’t recognize it. Only its length and general shape confirm that it is indeed Pure’s nail resting against the forge. You approach it slowly, wide-eyed with wonder. The Nailsmith clearly went far beyond just a few simple repairs.

“It’s gorgeous,” you breathe, reaching out to delicately trace the intricate engravings etched into the bright, polished metal.

“It’s exceedingly functional as well,” the Nailsmith replies, moving to stand beside you. “The engravings make it more aerodynamic, resulting in noticeably faster swings. They also keep it from feeling too heavy even with the added layer of pale ore. Your Knight should find that it hits almost twice as hard, now.”

“You really outdid yourself, Nailsmith. This is the finest blade I’ve ever seen.”

He nods. “It’s by far my best work yet. I just wish I could meet the Knight worthy of wielding it.”

You just barely manage to hold back a flinch. “I’m sure you’ll get the chance someday, when they’re not quite so…busy. Oh! I forgot to mention it earlier but the Commander wanted me to send you his regards. He was very pleased with that last batch of nails you made for his team.”

The Nailsmith nods again. “The City Guards are some of my best customers. It pays to keep them happy. Speaking of which…”

You grin, glad that your minor distraction worked. “Yes, of course. How much do I owe you?” you ask, digging into your messenger bag for your geo purse. The Nailsmith tells you and you pay him, adding a generous tip as thanks. Thankfully the King’s pockets are deep. Such fine craftsmanship never comes cheaply.

After sheathing Pure’s nail you say your goodbyes, stepping outside to start your final trip of the day. Your conversations with Cycas are quiet and easy as you trek back through the City, both of you more than ready to turn in for the evening. Even as pleasant as most of today has been it was still a long one.

You part ways at the barracks, sincerely thanking Cycas and mentioning that you hope to have him as a guard again soon. He grins and says he looks forward to it. 

The halls of the White Palace are mostly empty when you return, most bugs already turned into their personal quarters for the night. After dropping off the reports on the King’s desk you head back to your own rooms, exhaustion starting to creep under your shell. You slow to a stop as you pass by the hot springs, debating on wither or not to go in. You could _really_ go for a nice, long soak right about now…

You shake your head as you keep moving, guilt getting the better of you. Pure’s been by themselves for long enough.

“I’m back,” you call into your modest abode as you close the door behind you and lean Pure’s nail to rest against the wall. You yelp as Pure suddenly teleports into existence in your entryway, all but vibrating with excitement. They immediately reach out to touch you, large claws stopping just a hairsbreadth away from your shell. As soon as you nod your approval their claws are on you, gently cupping your face as they bend down to press their forehead against yours. You sigh, leaning into the touch.

“I missed you too, big guy. I’m sorry that I had to leave you alone for so long,” you murmur as you pull back. They follow at your heels as you make your way over to the laundry basket, your fingers already fiddling with the clasp at your throat. You’re very much ready to get this heavy cloak off your shoulders and settle in to unwind.

You pause as you pass by the record player, head tilting curiously.

This is not the music you put on earlier.

Sure enough several different records sit stacked next to the player, most of them out of their protective sleeves. You shake your head, turning it off before continuing to make your way towards your laundry bin. Out of all the unusual things Pure has done lately this is by far one of the least strange.

After throwing your own cloak in the bin you turn and help Pure remove theirs, hanging it up instead since its far less dusty than your own. You then make your way into your small kitchen, putting on a pot of water to boil.

“Would you like me to make you some, too?” you ask Pure, holding out a half-empty tea jar for them to inspect. They don’t need to eat or drink to survive like you do but are still capable of both should they choose to partake anyway. They take it from you gently, fingers brushing against your own. They bring it up to their face to smell, dark eyes brightening at the scent. You grin.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” you tease as you pull two large mugs from your cabinet.

A few minutes later finds you both settling into your living room, steaming cups of tea in claw. You sit cross-legged at the end of your couch, Pure sitting on the floor beside it since they’re a bit too big to fit with you. You reach out and swipe a book off the coffee table, placing your mug in the crevice between your legs as you settle back to read. Pure leans over and rests their chin on your shoulder, looking down at the pages in your claws.

“You want me to read to you?”

A silent nod is your only answer.

You smile softly as you flip to the beginning.

This particular ritual is nothing new. Even before the incident you would read to them whenever they had to stay with you; much preferring the sound of your own voice over the awkward silence. The only difference is that in the past they weren't so snuggly. 

You honestly can’t say that you mind the change.

****************************************

_Their claws are on you again, warm and comforting and strong against your hips. You groan in appreciation when you feel their mouth on your neck, moving to wrap your arms around their broad shoulders and pull them closer. Their grip on your hips tightens as they shudder against you._

_“Please,” you beg softly. “Please, Pure. I…I…” you trail off with a moan as they eagerly give you what you want, long fingers slipping between your legs. You gasp when you feel them, hips bucking into their touch as they curl their fingers just right._

_“Oh! Oh, Wyrm, just like that, love,_ please _…”_

_They don’t tease this time, fingers curling and uncurling inside you, the pleasure building, building, building…_

You wake up just as your dream-self reaches her peak, jaw clenching so hard you’re surprised your teeth don’t crack.

You’re tired of this. You’re so, _so_ tired of this. You’re tired of the sleepless nights, tired of waking up exhausted, tired of waking up _aching_.

And the source of all your frustrations is sitting right outside in your living room.

You glare through the darkness at your bedroom door, as if that will somehow fix anything.

A thought suddenly occurs to you, a dark whispering in the back of your mind.

_What if…what if you just invite them to bed? Surely that will sate you enough to make these Wyrm-forsaken dreams end._

You shake your head violently, burying your face in your claws with a groan. No. No, you will not. You absolutely will not give in to this…this minor (okay, major) inconvenience. You will not drag Pure down any further than they’ve already fallen. You are stronger than this. Stronger than these ridiculous dreams. Stronger than these stupid base needs.

You flop back down and roll over with a huff, determined to force yourself back to sleep.

…But the ache doesn’t go away. You toss and turn for the better part of half an hour, trying to get comfortable but your body refuses to let you ignore it.

With a roll of your eyes you slip a claw under the sheets, hoping to take care of the problem so that you can finally forget about it. Your fingers slip in easily, passage still slick from your dreams.

It isn’t enough.

Your fingers just aren’t quite long enough, aren’t quite thick enough to satisfy you. It just isn’t the _same._ No matter what you do it never seems to be enough. You try for over half an hour, desperately trying to reach some kind of end.

All in vain.

You fall back against your pillows, panting heavily and slick with sweat and _still aching._

You start to sob. The frustration and exhaustion and Wyrm-forsaken aching are just too much.

The quiet groan of an old door catching on its hinges startles you out of your self-pity, body instinctively curling in on itself. You look to your bedroom door, seeing a tall, shadowy figure hunched in the doorframe.

Pure.

“Hey there, big guy,” you croak through your hoarse throat. “Sorry for making so much noise. I just…had a bad dream, is all. Don’t worry about it.”

Pure tilts their head before ducking inside, moving to stand just at the end of your bed. Outlined by the soft, warm light coming from the living room they look almost ethereal; the deep black of their body shining like an oil slick while the bright white of their head glows with a faint halo. You look away, thankful that the relative darkness of your room hides the fierce blush that overtakes your face.

“I’m fine, Pure, I promise. I appreciate your concern, really, I do, but it’s not necessary. Go ahead and go back to the living room.”

They ignore your request, instead moving to sit at the edge of your bed. They sit there, claws clasped between their knees as they tilt their head and look at you expectantly. You grit your teeth.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m _fine_. It was just a stupid dream, okay? Let me go back to sleep.”

Still they sit, either oblivious to or uncaring of your growing frustration. You watch as they bring a claw up to pat their chest before slowly moving it to pat the bed beside you. Your frustration dies instantly, replaced instead by a soft warmth in your chest.

“It’s…it’s really not a good idea for you to stay with me, Pure,” you say softly. “If you do, I…I might do something I’ll regret.”

Pure watches you for a long moment, dark eyes searching. Then, with a gentle nod, they stand and turn to leave. Something heavy in your chest aches as you watch them go, your mouth opening before your stupid, tired brain can stop the word from tumbling out.

“Wait.”

They stop just inside the doorway, turning back to face you expectantly.

“Do you…do you remember that time?” you ask quietly, swallowing around a sudden lump in your throat. “That time you…you touched me in the hot spring?”

They nod.

“Would you…would you like to do that again?”

A thick, heavy beat of silence then-

Pure’s claws are suddenly everywhere; cupping your face, trailing down your sides, gripping at your hips, running across your thighs. You laugh, breathless with amusement over their overwhelming enthusiasm.

“Well, I guess that’s an obvious yes,” you tease, moving to cup their face in your claws. You bring them down to kiss you, heart racing when they easily pick up on what you’re showing them and begin to eagerly kiss back.

Much later, when you’re finally sated enough to drift back to sleep in the warmth of Pure’s arms, nothing in you aches anymore.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who have been waiting for an update I thank you for your patience. Your reviews and kind words really motivated me to work on this story. I'm estimating that it will have about 4 or 5 chapters when finished. This fic is unbetaed so of course concrit is always welcome. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Calm

“The Commander is here to see you, Your Majesty.”

The Pale King looks up from his paperwork, weariness tugging at the corners of his dark eyes.

“Why? Our regularly scheduled meeting is less than a week away. Surely whatever needs to be addressed can wait until then.”

The retainer straightens from his bow to meet the King’s tired gaze. “He claims that it’s urgent, Your Majesty. Apparently the number of Infection-related attacks is increasing.”

The King stiffens in his chair, gaze sharpening. “Very well, then. Tell the Commander that I will be with him shortly.”

The retainer bows again. “Right away, Your Majesty,” he says before turning and striding back down the hall.

As soon as the retainer is out of sight the King lets out a long-suffering sigh, claws moving to massage his temples as he prepares himself for the incoming bad news. After a solid minute to pull himself together he slips out of his chair and sets off towards the throne room, his two Kingsmoulds falling silently into step behind him.

Best get the details before he lets his mind slip too far into overdrive.

The throne room is empty save for the Commander, two Lance Sentries, and the retainer who informed him of their arrival. As soon as he steps through the archway all of them drop to one knee, heads respectfully bowed. He forgoes sitting on his throne in favor of walking over to stand directly in front of the Commander, waving for him to stand as he does so.

“My retainer informed me that your visit has to do with the Infection related attacks, Commander. Please explain,” the King states calmly, clasping his claws behind his back.

“They’re getting worse, Your Majesty,” the Commander replies gravely as he rises to stand at attention. “There were three attacks these past two weeks alone. One near the Crossroads and two at Queen’s Station. More than the last 4 months combined.”

“Were there any casualties?”

“Five dead and three injured. Eight dead if you include the Infected.”

The King grits his teeth, clasped claws tightening. “I see. Rest assured that I am personally working towards a solution. It is just about complete. But until it is ready I assume you have suggestions on how to help curb the number of casualties?”

The Commander nods stiffly. “I do, Your Majesty. I would increase the number of guards in the areas that seem most affected. I would also increase the number of rotations while decreasing shift length to help prevent guard burnout.  I have a rough schedule with me if you would like to look it over.”

“That won’t be necessary, Commander. I trust your judgment. You have my permission to alter the schedule as you see fit.”

The Commander bows his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“How do you plan to handle the foreign emissary group that is scheduled to visit next month? With this turn of events I’m sure that changes will need to be made.”  

The Commander nods again. “I’ve decided that a couple of hand-picked Sentries and I will be the ones to guide them through Hallownest to the Palace. I will also have a small group to scout ahead for any potential threats. With careful planning and a bit of luck the emissaries won’t even notice that anything is amiss.”

The Pale King nods back. “Excellent. Is there anything else that you need to discuss with me?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Then you’re dismissed. Should the situation drastically change you are to inform me immediately.”

The Commander bows. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Back rigged and claws still clasped tightly behind his back, the Pale King watches as the Commander and the two Sentries take their leave. As soon as they’re out of sight his shoulders slacken, the tiredness returning to his eyes. He turns to the retainer waiting in the corner.

“Bring a pot of tea to my study as soon as you’re able, please.”

The retainer bows. “Right away, Your Majesty!”

As the King reaches the arched doorway leading out to his personal quarters he pauses, turning to look back over his shoulder at the still-waiting retainer.

“Actually, add a bottle of whiskey to that order while you’re at it.”  

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

*

Waking up in a lover’s arms is quite possibly the best way to start a morning.

Sure, it had taken some getting used to. The first couple of times you’d opened your bleary eyes to see Pure’s deep black ones staring right back you’d startled so bad you’d about fallen off your bed. You were just so used to waking up alone. Honestly, you’d thought that very first night was just another dream. After you’d woken up it had taken a solid minute of gentle touches to convince your still sleep-groggy brain that this was, indeed, real. 

A part of you still can’t believe that it is.

A distant part of you had always acknowledged the fact that your charge is objectively attractive. Their skill with a nail and magic makes them doubly so. But professionalism had kept it at just that: objective. Well, that and their general unresponsiveness to most things. Even though you couldn’t help but grow attached to the strange, silent bug you spent most of your waking hours with you had figured that your feelings would never grow beyond a familiar fondness for them. After all, you can only grow so attached to a being that doesn’t truly seem to hear anything you say or react to anything but direct orders.

After the incident in the hot spring, however, it was like a flip had switched.

And even though guilt still tinges the edges you can’t help but feel that the resulting affair is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“Morning, handsome,” you mumble with a half-grin, eyes still heavy and lidded.

Pure leans over and gently touches their forehead to yours in silent reply. You giggle, tilting your head to give them a light kiss on the cheek. Before you can pull away they catch your chin and turn your face to give you a kiss proper. You sigh against their mouth, melting under their sweet attention.

Yes, it’d definitely be easy to get used to this.

Your eyes catch sight of your bedroom clock over their shoulder and you reluctantly pull away. As much as you’d love to just stay in bed with them all day you both have duties to attend to.

“Sorry, big guy, but we need to get up. Don’t want to be late.”

Pure nods in agreement as you get out of bed and head straight for the bathroom. When you come out a few minutes later they’re in the kitchen, setting everything up for your morning tea. You grin as you sidle up behind them and wrap your arms around their waist.

“You’re going to spoil me, you know. What am I going to do with myself when you go back to training with the King?” Though you meant it to be teasing Pure stiffens in your arms, claw pausing in its task of grabbing a cup from the cabinet. You frown, hugging them a bit tighter and resting your cheek against their back in apology.

“I was just teasing, Pure. We’ll be fine. We can still squeeze in some ‘us’ time in between all your training. Make good use of that private hot spring, yeah?”

Slowly, they nod, claw moving to gently set your favorite mug down on the counter.  

The rest of your morning routine is pleasant. You can’t help but babble a bit as you go about making breakfast and getting ready; talking about their training, Marissa’s new record that’s due to come out soon, the book you’re reading together. Pure listens to everything you say, nodding along or shaking their head whenever they agree or disagree with something. Though they can’t speak back you never once feel silly or lonely. You do wish that they had a way to better communicate, though. Maybe the next time you’re near Monomon’s Archives you can look for some books on sign language…

You pull your thoughts back to the present as you finish fastening Pure’s cloak. “There,” you state with mild satisfaction as you smooth out the fabric around their shoulders. “Ready to head out?”

Pure leans down and you meet them halfway for a kiss. As soon as you’re out the door, however, you’re both all business. For your part you manage to avoid rambling to them as you make your way down the long, white halls. The corridors are busy at this time of morning; all the other retainers and Palace staff bustling to and fro as they start the work day. You smile and nod at a few familiar faces as you pass by each other but none of you have time to stop and chat. Pure, as usual, just stands tall and silent as they follow along behind you.

Not surprisingly, Hedgemol is already waiting in the training room when you arrive.

“Good morning, Sir Hedgemol,” you greet with a smile and a slight bow.

He nods back in acknowledgement. “And to you as well, ________! How are you this fine morning?”

You grin, happy for a bit of small-talk. After a few minutes of polite conversation though, you both return to business. Taking Pure’s cloak, you settle on your usual bench to watch.

About two hours in another retainer arrives with a message for you.

“Our Majesty requires your immediate presence in the throne room,” he says plainly after a cursory nod of greeting.

You nod back as you stand. “I’ll be right there.”

You turn and wave to Hedgemol as the retainer leaves. He stops the lesson immediately, holding up a claw to signal so to Pure.

“What is it, lass?”

“The King wants to see me,” you answer as you walk closer to talk. “I’m not sure what for. Hopefully I’ll be back before the end of your lesson but if not would you mind explaining why I’m gone to Ze’mer? And tell her if I’m not back by the end of her lesson to just have the Vessel wait here for me, please?”

Hedgemol nods. “Aye. I’ll be sure to tell her.”

You grin and offer him a small parting bow. “Thank you, Hedgemol.”

“Take care, lass,” he replies as you make your way out of the training hall, your mind abuzz with possible reasons for your summoning.

The throne room is the busiest you’ve seen it in a while.

Honestly, the fact that both thrones are currently occupied is surprising enough. Lately the White Lady has taken to sending most of her time in her private Gardens; venturing back only for the occasional diplomatic meeting like this one. It’s been several months since you’ve last seen her.

Surrounded on all sides by brilliant white, Herrah and her dark entourage look strikingly out of place; though certainly no less impressive. You do your best not to stare at the large Weavers and eerie Stalking Devouts standing in formation behind their Queen. Even though you’ve seen them a handful of times during the odd trip to Deepnest their appearance never ceases to intrigue you.

A sudden flash of red near Herrah’s legs catches your attention and you glance down. Two dark, curious eyes peek out from around them to watch you; narrowing slightly as they take in your every move. You stifle a grin, barely resisting the urge to send the adorable Princess a cheeky little wink.

Reaching the foot of the throne, you bow politely to Herrah and her daughter before turning to kneel before your King and Queen.  

“You wanted to see me, Your Majesties?”

“We did,” the King replies smoothly, waving for you to stand. “Herrah, this is _______, one of our most trusted retainers. You may have seen her before as she is one of the few messengers I send to Deepnest.”

Herrah gives you a brief once-over before nodding. “We’ve met. I remember her being very polite and to-the-point during such visits, which I greatly appreciated.”  

“Would you consider her to be an appropriate temporary guardian for Hornet while we discuss business?”

Another, longer, once-over. You stand a bit straighter at the scrutiny, keeping your expression neutral.

“Possibly...” Herrah starts, walking over to stand directly in front of you. She’s not quite as tall as the White Lady or Pure but she’s still plenty tall enough to loom over you. You glance up to meet her eyes. Or, at least where her eyes would be behind her mask.

“Do you have any experience with children?” she asks, crossing her top set of arms.

“I do, Your Majesty. As the oldest child of my group I often played the role of babysitter while our parents attended their duties. At least I did between our lessons, of course.”

“Group? You mean your family?”

You shake your head. “Not by blood, Your Majesty. The position of Royal Retainer is an inherited one. All of us had at least one parent that served the King.”

Herrah snorts, turning her mask towards the throne. “Paranoid to the core, I see. Is there anyone in this Palace of yours that isn’t brainwashed from the moment they’re born?”

The Pale King’s eyes narrow to dagger slits. Your blood freezes in your veins, body flashing ice cold. Did you say the wrong thing? Oh, Wyrm, you were just trying to answer her questions thoroughly.

Luckily, his ire isn’t aimed at you.

“We are meeting today to discuss the Tram expansion into Deepnest; not my chosen methods of obtaining employees. Now, do you find her suitable or not?”

Herrah’s eyes are once again on you.

“I’m well versed in basic first aid, Your Majesty,” you blurt, hoping to prove yourself and help make up for your part in that little blunder. “I’ve also been trained in CPR and all anti-choking maneuvers. I promise that your daughter will be very safe with me.”

Another long, breathless moment of scrutiny, then – “…Alright. You seem responsible enough. Hornet, sweetling, come here, please.” 

Hornet shuffles out from behind one of the Weaver’s legs before darting over to take up her former place behind her mother’s. Herrah reaches down with one of her lower arms and places a gentle claw between her daughter’s horns.

“This bug is going to take care of you for a few hours while I discuss business with the King,” Herrah explains gently. You smile and wave at Hornet for emphasis. Her small, dark eyes just narrow at you.

“I expect you to behave for her,” Herrah continues, tone soft but stern.

Hornet vigorously shakes her head, pressing her tiny face against the back of her mother’s knee. “Don’t wanna. Wanna stay here with you.”

Herrah sighs.

“Oh, sweetling, I promise we’re not going to be doing anything exciting,” the White Lady suddenly speaks up, blue eyes strangely soft. “In fact, even _I’ll_ admit that it’s going to be rather boring. Especially so for such an energetic child as yourself.”

Hornet shakes her head again. “Don’t care. Wanna stay.”

You let out a melodramatic sigh, drawing Hornet’s attention.

“Well, I guess I won’t have anyone to share my honeycake with, then. I suppose I’ll just have to eat it all by myself, now…” you tease, tapping your chin and looking away as if in thought.

Hornet’s eyes are still narrowed, suspicious. “You have cake?”

You hum. “Well, _I_ don’t have cake, but the kitchen certainly does. I was going to take you there to get one. So long as your mother is okay with it, of course,” you add, glancing at Herrah.

“Can I go get cake, mama? Please?” Hornet asks sweetly, reaching up to tug at her mother’s claw.

“Of course you can, my sweetling,” Herrah replies with a smile in her voice. “Just a slice, though. I don’t want your appetite ruined for supper,” she adds, turning her mask back to you. You nod in acknowledgement.  

You reach out a claw to Hornet and she takes it, happily letting you lead her out of the room. The Pale King nods to one of his Kingsmoulds and it moves to fall silently into step behind you.

“So what’s your favorite game to play?” you ask your tiny new charge.

“Knight and Princess!”

“Oh? Do you like being the Knight or the Princess?”

Hornet scoffs. “The Knight! Being the Princess is _boring_.”  

Herrah watches as your small group disappears around a corner, waiting until your chatter fades down the hall before once again turning to face the Pale King.

“She’s the retainer who watches over the Vessel’s progress, isn’t she?” she asks.

 The Pale King nods. “She is. Why do you ask?”

“I’d like for Hornet to have a companion when she starts traveling between the Kingdoms. Someone to provide a sense of stability and familiarity. Since your Vessel’s retainer is going to need a new main duty soon and seems to get on with Hornet well enough I figure she’d be the perfect candidate,” Herrah explains, matter-of-fact. She’d come to terms with her fate long enough ago that any thoughts regarding her daughter’s future mostly boiled down to practicalities now.

“So you’d have our ________ fill that role?” The White Lady asks curiously. “Why not one of your own Weavers? Surely that would be a more comfortable solution for all parties.”

Herrah shrugs, crossing her arms. “My kind isn’t easily accepted outside of Deepnest. Your retainer would be able to traverse your Kingdom with far less prejudice.”

The Pale King nods. “I will consider it. We can discuss the possibility further after our current business has been tabled. Now, if you’ll please follow me, I have a meeting room already set up.”

*

After stopping at the kitchens for the promised cake, you and Hornet swing by the classrooms to gather some supplies. You don’t take much; just a few children’s books, paper, and some colored wax sticks. Things you hope will keep the young Princess occupied while you sit through the rest of Pure’s training.

By the time you make it back to the training room, Ze’mer has taken over for her portion.

“Eh? And who do we have here, Le’mer?” she asks as you step through the threshold with Hornet in tow. She straightens from her defensive position, waving for the Vessel to do the same. The Kingsmould following behind you takes its place just beside the main entryway.

“Ah, this is the Beast’s own daughter, yes? Che’ has met her once, though che’ remembers her being much smaller,” she continues as you make your way over to greet her. Hornet hides behind your legs as Ze’mer crouches down to get a better look at her. “There is no need to be frightened, Le’mer. Che’ is just admiring how much you have grown.”

“Hornet, this is Lady Ze’mer,” you explain to her with a smile, giving her claw a gentle reassuring squeeze. “She is one of the King’s Great Knights.”

Her little eyes grow wide as she leans around you for a better look. “You’re a Knight?” she asks, clearly awestruck.

“Che’ is!” Ze’mer answers with a grin. “One of the best in the Kingdom.”

“Are they a Knight, too?” Hornet asks, catching sight of Pure who stands rigid and silent a few feet away.

“They are. Che’ is training them to be a better one.”

“Can you teach me how to be a Knight, too?” Hornet asks excitedly, bouncing in place.

Ze’mer chuckles as she stands. “Maybe someday, Le’mer. When you’re older and little bigger, yes? For now you may watch. One can learn a great many things just by watching.” 

From that moment on Hornet follows Ze’mer’s lesson with single-minded intensity. She doesn’t even touch the books or the wax sticks you brought along; instead sitting on the edge of the bench as she takes everything in with wide, dark eyes. You grin at her enthusiasm. It reminds you of the excitement you had felt when you first received the privilege of watching the Knights in action so many years ago.

Your eyes drift over to the reason you received that privilege in the first place, grin softening into a smile. They’ve grown into quite the Knight themselves; and with each passing session they only become better.

All too soon the training ends. After a friendly goodbye and reassurances of possible future lessons Ze’mer takes her leave; leaving you with an all-but-vibrating Hornet and a stock-still Pure.

“That was _amazing_!” Hornet gushes, tugging at your claw. “Did you see the way she swung her nail?! She was all, _slash_! And _woosh!_ And-“ she continues, mimicking Ze’mer’s movements with childish exaggeration. You grin as you watch her.

“And they move so _fast_!” she continues, pointing at Pure, who thankfully continues to stand stock still, waiting for direction. Children are generally very bad at keeping secrets. “I couldn’t barely see them when they moved!”

“It was pretty amazing, wasn’t it?” you agree, an idea forming as you catch sight of the doors that lead to the storage room on the far wall. You need to find a way for Hornet to blow off some of this excess energy she’s built up. Pure suffered no injuries so their post-training soak can be put off for a bit.

“Do you think I’ll get to be a Knight someday?” Hornet asks, tugging at your claw again.

“I’m sure you will, sweetling,” you answer as you smile down at her. “But for now, why don’t we pretend? I think the store room has some practice nails we can play with.”

The way her eyes light up put even the brightest lamp in the Palace to shame. “Can we? Canwecanwecanwecanwe?”

You laugh, gently tugging her along towards the store room. “Yes, sweetling. We can.”

Sure enough, you find some dusty old shellwood training nails stored away in the back. You pick out a small one for Hornet and a slightly bigger one for yourself. Hornet wastes no time trying hers out, eagerly hacking and slashing at the air in an enthusiastic effort to recreate the session she witnessed earlier.

“You said your favorite game was Knight and Princess, right?” you ask as you close up the store room behind you.

Hornet pauses swinging just long enough to vigorously nod her head. “Yeah! Can I be the Knight? You can be the Princess and they can be the bad guy!” she says, pointing at Pure.

“Er…” you start, glancing at your primary charge. You’re pretty sure they’ve never interacted with children before. Maybe if you lead by example? “How about I be the bad guy and they be the Princess?”

“Just don’t get mad when I beat you!” she says, pointing her shellwood nail at you.

“Cross my heart,” you swear with a grin, drawing an ‘X’ over your chest with a finger as you move to stand in front of Pure. “Sit down please, Vessel,” you order as you ready your ‘nail.’ They comply, settling cross-legged on the cool marble floor with their forearms draped over their thighs. You shoot them a small, private smile before turning back to face the energetic young Princess.

“Alright, _hero_!” you taunt in your best ‘villain’ voice. “Do your worst!”

Hornet comes at you with all the ferocity a tiny, over-enthusiastic six-year-old can muster; which is admittedly way more than you ever would have expected. She swings her ‘nail’ with a surprising amount of speed and grace for someone of her size and age and you find yourself on the ‘defensive’ more often than not. You block most of what you can’t outright dodge but the few glancing hits she does manage to land don’t even sting. You grin as you dance around the training room, lightly taunting her all the while.

“Is that the best you can do, hero?” you sing-song as you block a running, over-head swing from her ‘nail.’ “If so then it looks like the Princess will be staying with me!”

“SHAW!” she cries as she swings her nail back up, successfully knocking yours out of your intentionally-loosened grip. It clatters to the floor, rolling away from your reach. She points her ‘weapon’ up at your chest. “Do you give up?”

You hold up your claws in surrender. “I give, I give! Clearly I am no match for the great Hornet!”

She puffs up in pride, turning to march triumphantly over to where Pure still sits on the floor.

“This is the part where you thank me for saving you!” she whisper-yells as she holds out a tiny claw to help them up. Pure gently takes it, pretending that it helps them get to their feet.

“I _said_ ‘this is the part where you thank me for saving you!’” Hornet whisper-yells a bit louder when she receives no other response.

“They can’t talk, sweetling,” you explain as you go to pick up your ‘nail.’

 Hornet turns to look at you in surprise. “But why?”

You shrug. “That’s just the way they were born.”

“But…but…how do they say things?”

You smile softly as you crouch down to her level. “They don’t have much to say, sweetling,” you lie. “And bugs like them have other ways to ‘talk.’ They can use their hands for sign-language or to write things down.”

She squints at you, confused. “They use their _hands_?”

“Well, _they_ don’t,” you emphasize, nodding at Pure. “They don’t talk _at all_. But other bugs that can’t hear or speak use sign-language. They make special gestures with their hands instead of saying words with their mouths.”

“Oh…” she says, understanding a little better.

“Now, are you ready to save the Princess again?”

“Yeah! But this time I want _them_ to be the bad guy!” she exclaims, bouncing up and down as she once again points at Pure.

You sigh, figuring she’s never going to give the idea up. Surely it can’t hurt anything…

“Alright. Vessel!”

Pure focuses on you immediately, bending down to meet your eyes.

“You’re going to _pretend_ to fight with her, alright?” you explain, handing them your shellwood practice nail. It looks ridiculously small in their claw, but you definitely don’t want to risk giving them anything bigger. You lower your voice for only them to hear. “Go easy on her. You saw how I played with her?”

Pure gives you the barest of nods. You smile.

“Alright, hero!” you exclaim, whirling back around before sinking to the floor with the back of your claw pressed dramatically against your forehead. “Save me from the big, bad bug!”

*

So the next couple of hours pass. The three of you rotate between roles, with everyone playing every part at least once. You even manage to get Hornet to play the Princess. Granted, it’s towards the end when she’s clearly wearing out, but still. You suspect Pure scooping her up and putting her on their shoulders after ‘saving’ her more than made up for it if her happy laughter was anything to go by.

Luckily, Pure is back to playing the Princess when another retainer pokes his head through the door.

“There you are! Our Majesties are finished with their meeting. You are to bring the Princess to the throne room at once.”

“We’ll be there shortly,” you reply with a nod.

“But we’re not done playing yet!” Hornet pouts, waving her ‘nail’ at you.

“I’m afraid we are, sweetling,” you say gently as you move to gather Pure’s cloak from the bench, tossing your ‘nail’ back into the storage room as you pass it. “Your mother is waiting for you.”

Her posture softens, nail-arm dropping to rest at her side. “...Can I keep the nail? Please?”

You hum as you finish fastening the cloak around Pure’s neck. “That’s a question for the Pale King, sweetling. It’s not mine to give.” Your heart breaks a little at her clearly dejected expression. “But I’m sure that he’ll let you have it. Just remember to ask nicely, okay?”

Hornet perks up a little and nods.

The hallways are fairly busy as your little entourage makes its way through them; caught in the evening rush. Hornet sticks close to your side the entire trip, small claw tightly gripping yours. You give it a reassuring squeeze. You know firsthand just how different the halls of the Palace are from those of Deepnest.

Her grip finally loosens when the throne room comes into sight.

“Mama!” she gleefully shouts as she fully lets go, running over to hug Herrah’s leg.

“Hello, my sweetling,” Herrah replies warmly, resting a claw between her daughter’s horns. “Did you enjoy your time here at the Palace?”

“Yeah! I got to watch two Knights fight each other!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, yeah! And then I got to be a Knight, too! See, see? I even got a nail!” she says excitedly, waving her shellwood weapon for emphasis. You stifle a grin. She’s just too darn c _ute._

“So I see. But did they say that it is yours to keep, my sweetling?” Herrah asks, looking towards the Pale King standing a few feet away. Hornet follows her mother’s gaze, shrinking a bit when it lands on the King.

The King merely nods, a smile crinkling his eyes. “Of course she may keep it. I’m sure it will be of far more use to her than it was to the storage room whence it came.”

Herrah looks back down at her daughter. “What do we say, Hornet?”

“Thank you!”

“You are very welcome.”

Herrah turns to you, then. “Thank you for keeping an eye on my daughter. I know that she can be a bit…rambunctious.”

You grin and bow your head. “It was my pleasure, Your Majesty. And she was no trouble at all. I’d be happy to do it again the next time you’re both here.”

Herrah nods at you before looking back down at Hornet. “Alright, my sweetling. Say goodbye. It’s time for us to go home.”

Hornet darts over to you, hugging your leg tightly. “Bye! I hope we can play again soon!”

Your heart melts into a puddle of maternal goo as you reach down to rub an affectionate claw between her horns. “Me too, sweetling.”

And with that Herrah and her entourage take their leave, dark shapes moving silently through pale halls. You’re genuinely sad to see them go.

“You did well today, _________. I knew that you would be the perfect choice for such an assignment,” the Pale King praises.

You smile and bow your head, pride swelling in your chest. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Is there anything that needs to be taken care of before the Vessel’s training tonight?” he asks, glancing at the figure standing tall and silent behind you.

“The Vessel has yet to have their post-training soak, Your Majesty,” you answer. “Their nail also needs to be attended to. I forwent these things in favor of watching the Princess.”

The King nods. “That is understandable. Very well. See to them and then bring the Vessel by my study later this evening.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

You both hold up your façade all the way to the hot spring. As soon as the door is locked, however, it becomes a different story.

“I really do need to oil your nail, you know” you tease as soon as you feel their claws on your hips. You twist around to face them, grinning. They just rest their chin on your head and slump their shoulders in what you’ve come to realize is their version of a pout.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Pure. I promise I’ll be quick, okay?”

They shudder, their version of a long-suffering sigh. But after a moment they concede, straightening up to remove and fold their cloak before sliding into the hot water. You grab their longnail and sit on the bench, running quickly but cleanly through the routine.

“You were so sweet today, Pure,” you say when you’re finished, leaning their nail against the wall behind you. Void black eyes watch intently as you unclasp your cloak and fold it next to theirs, body shifting slightly in anticipation. You sigh contentedly as you slide in across from them, eyes lidded.

“You were so good with Hornet. Watching you play with her made my heart melt.”

You wade over to them slowly, teasingly. Patiently, they wait; dark eyes never leaving your face or the swaying of your hips. Sitting down like this they’re almost eye-level with you; the perfect height for you to wrap your arms around their neck. Their claws move to rest gently against your sides.

“You’d make such a good parent,” you continue as you sink down to straddle their lap. Pure’s head tilts down to follow you, eyes staring intensely into yours. “As weird as it is to admit it, it’s honestly kind of a turn-on.”

Pure shudders, claws sliding down your sides to grip your hips as they lean forward to press their forehead against your own.

“I know it isn’t possible to have our own,” you murmur softly as you close your eyes. “But adoption is always an option. Maybe we could look into it when you’re finally free of your duty to the King…”

Pure goes ridged beneath you, head pulling back. You look up at them and frown.

“What’s wrong? Am…am I moving too fast? Oh, Wyrm, I am, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Pure. I just got lost in thought and started rambling again. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Still they sit, completely unmoving as they stare past you at nothing in particular.

“That doesn’t have to happen if you don’t want it too,” you blurt, trying to do damage control. “It was just a silly thought I had. Why don’t we just focus on us for now? We still have this whole hot spring to ourselves…” you suggest, brushing your claws down their chest.

Thankfully, that seems to snap them out of it and they look down at you again.

“Are…are we okay? I didn’t mess everything up, did I?”

Slowly, Pure shakes their head. They bend forward to once again press their forehead to yours as they shudder-sigh against you. You deflate a little in relief.

The session is slow and gentle; soft, quiet touches of affection and apology. When you’re both finally sated you sit cuddled in the warm water, enjoying the calm of each others’ presence.

If you notice that Pure holds you a little tighter than usual you don’t say anything about it. 


	4. Storm

Nervous energy gnaws at your stomach, making it feel knotted and sick. You resist the urge to rock on your feet as you wait even though you’re desperate to release some of the build-up. This is going to be your first real impression. You can’t afford to mess it up. Your job is very much at stake.

The absolute last thing you need is to say or do something stupid in front of the Pale King. 

_Get a hold of yourself! You’ve been training your entire life for this moment. There is no way you can be any more prepared than you already are._

Even though it’s only been a couple of minutes you mentally curse the wait; simultaneously wishing for more time to get yourself together and to just get the whole thing over with.

A flash of bright white out of the corner of your eye nearly makes your heart stop.

“Ah, you must be _________. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You immediately drop to one knee as he moves to stand in front of you, bowing your head low before you can get a good look at him.

_Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke…_

“The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty,” you reply evenly. _Perfect. Keep that up._

“Please, stand. This meeting will be far more pleasant for both of us if we can talk face-to-face.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you answer as you stand up as smoothly as you can. _Was ‘thank you’ the right thing to say? Should I have said ‘yes’ instead? Am I saying ‘Your Majesty’ too much? Oh, Wyrm, this shouldn’t be this stressful._

As you straighten you finally get your first real look at the notoriously reclusive monarch.

He’s…shorter…than you expected. And brighter. Even surrounded on all sides by polished white marble he somehow manages to stand out; almost glowing with how brilliantly white he is. His coal black eyes provide a startling contrast, sharp and searching and seemingly all-knowing. Despite his short stature he manages to make you feel even more meek and small.

You swallow to try and wet your suddenly dry throat.

“I’ve heard nothing but good things about you from your teachers,” the Pale King continues, clasping his claws behind his back as he regards you with those strikingly dark eyes. “Top of your class with near-perfect scores. Incredibly clever. Exceedingly polite. Exceptionally well-organized and consistently punctual. Elected president of your class by a large margin.”

Your face grows warmer with each compliment. You’re pretty sure you’re glowing almost as bright as he is by the end of it.

“You flatter me, Your Majesty, but I would not be nearly so successful if I did not have your teachers to guide me.” That, and being at the top of a class of only 20 bugs is not exactly something you’d consider a grand achievement. You’ll definitely never say as much to the King, though.

The Pale King’s eyes crinkle in a smile. “Perhaps not, but they merely helped shape what was already there. You already possessed the foundation. They just gave you the tools to build upon it.”

If your face gets any redder you’re pretty sure you’ll pass out.

_Wouldn’t_ that _just be the perfect first impression?_

“Have you given any thought as to your specialty?” he asks, tilting his head.

You nod. “I have, Your Majesty. I was thinking of going into the City Planning Division like my mother.”

The Pale King nods back. “A fine choice. Your mother was a wonderful addition to the team when she joined. One of the key architects behind the Royal Waterways, in fact, though I’m sure you already knew that. We lost a brilliant mind when she retired.”

You smile and give him a shallow bow. “I’ll be sure to relay your praise the next time I see her, Your Majesty. I know she’ll be incredibly flattered.”

“Ah, but I’m getting off track. Do you know the reason I called for you?”

“Your messenger mentioned that you had a potential assignment for me, Your Majesty.”

“Indeed I do,” he answers seriously. “How would you like to become one of my personal retainers?”

You bow your head to keep your jaw from hitting the floor. Though everyone that works in the White Palace technically holds the title of ‘Royal Retainer’, only a select few bugs ever receive the privilege of working for the Pale King personally. And he is notoriously picky about who he chooses to fill such positions.

“You don’t have to hold the position permanently, of course,” he continues before you can answer. “The assignment I would give you is a long one, but once it is finished you would be free to change paths as you see fit. I would only require that you stay until your obligation to me is finished. Though if you do choose to stay on as my personal retainer it would be an easy enough matter to find you a new role.”

“I would be honored, Your Majesty,” you reply sincerely with a deep bow. You never expected to be offered such an esteemed position. You would be a fool not to grasp this opportunity with both claws and run with it.

“Are you certain? My intent is not to pressure. If you have your heart set on joining the City Planning Division then you are by all means allowed to do so.”

You straighten up and nod. “I’m sure, Your Majesty. You mentioned that the assignment does not have to be permanent. I can always join the CPD in the future. After fulfilling my obligation to you, of course.”

The Pale King nods. “Very well, then. Let me introduce you to your charge. Vessel!”

Wait, _charge_? You’re going to be _babysitting?_

You follow the King’s gaze to the doorway leading out into his personal quarters. A tall, trim bug steps into view; the bottom of their long, white cape sweeping across the marble floor as they stride over to stand beside the King. Their head is the same brilliant white as the Pale King’s shell though their body is the deepest black you’ve ever seen. They’re a little over a head taller than you are and, upon closer inspection, around the same age as you. You fight down the urge to blush again.

“_______, this is the Vessel,” the Pale King starts, nodding towards the strange new bug with the stranger title. “Your main duty will be to set its schedules and keep track of its progress as it goes through its more intensive training.”

“It?” you question, brow furrowing as you turn back to face your King.

The Pale King nods. “It is not truly a bug. It is a sliver of Void mixed with Soul contained within the shell of one. It is wholly incapable of speech, emotion, or independent thought. That is why it needs someone to direct it at all times.”

“I…I see.”

“It is imperative that it stays that way,” the King continues, fixing you with a serious look. “Its hollowness, for lack of a better term, is necessary to fulfill its purpose. It is a key part in my plan to save Hallownest from the Infection.”

Your eyes widen. You’d honestly forgotten about the Infection. Loathe as you are to admit it you’ve been sheltered here at the Palace. The only things you’d heard about the mysterious illness were from the odd rumor; half-mentions of incidents happening to the second-cousin-twice-removed of a friend of a friend. You didn’t realize that it was a big enough problem for the King to want to get involved.

“It reacts to direct orders and the threat of bodily harm only,” the King continues to explain, bringing your full attention back to him. “Should it deviate at all from that norm you are to report it to me immediately.”

“What will happen if it deviates, Your Majesty?” you can’t help but ask.

“Then it will be destroyed.”

He says it so plainly, so matter-of-factly, that it takes you aback. It’s like he’s just talking about tossing a broken record.

“Destroyed?” you echo quietly.

“It is not a bug, _______,” the Pale King reminds you, noticing your unease. “It just looks like one. What you see is merely a shell. There is nothing inside it but Void.”

You’d learned about Void in one of your classes, once. All you really remember is something about it being a dark, suffocating substance that was apparently worshiped by a civilization long since past. You look up into the Vessel’s deep black eyes; darker even than the King’s. With the way they just continue to stand completely silent and unmoving while the King discusses their possible termination right in front of them you can honestly believe it.

“Will you be capable of this condition?” the Pale King asks, sharp eyes focused on you, studying.

Though they are technically not a bug they look so much like one that on first glance it’s hard to believe that they’re not. Were they to pass you in the halls you’d think nothing was amiss, only sparing them a second glance to confirm their attractiveness.

You resist the urge to swallow.

Could you really do such a thing?

Being one of the King’s personal retainers is by far the best thing you could put on a resume. Any future position you could possibly want would be pretty much guaranteed. You’d heard that the King himself would even put in a good word for those who had served him especially well.

And he did say that it was crucial to saving Hallownest from the Infection…

**_Destroyed,_** _not killed. **It** is not a bug. **It** just looks like one, _you remind yourself, drowning that sympathetic little voice in the back of your head in it’s cold comfort. _And you’d be a fool not to take this opportunity._

You look back at your King and nod, firm and sure.

“I am wholly capable, Your Majesty. If it is necessary for the wellbeing of Hallownest then so be it.”

“Excellent. I will hold you to it. Now, please follow me. I will explain the details of your position as we fetch you your new cloak…”

*

The feeling of something warm and wet splashing against your face startles you out of the memory and, thankfully, the guilt that always accompanies it. You jerk your head up to see where it came from, fingers tightening around the longnail resting forgotten in your lap. Pure sits quietly in the water, watching you with dark, amused eyes.

“Did…did you just _splash_ me?”

They shrug and tilt their head, playing innocent.

You click your tongue in mild reproach. “Do you _want_ my cloak to get soaked?”

They shrug again, pointing towards the clasp at your throat before flippantly waving their claw.

_Take it off, then._

You snort and roll your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you pick up your forgotten whetstone to finish sharpening their nail.

“So impatient,” you tease as you run it along the edge of the blade. “I have a job to do too, you know.”

Another splash, this one big enough to soak through the top half of your cloak. You sputter indignantly, wiping away the worst of the water from your face before pouting playfully at them.

“Oh, that is _it_ ,” you warn as you set their nail to the side and stand, fingers quickly undoing the clasp at your throat. Luckily you have a couple of hours before their next training session else you would have been _actually_ irritated. You’d hate having to explain your damp cloak to one of the Knights.

The cloth barely hits the floor before you’re running towards the hot spring, vaulting off the edge and curling into a perfect cannon ball midair. You hit your intended target; landing a mere foot away from Pure. The resulting splash is tall enough to reach over their head, their arm not quite enough to protect them from getting a solid face-full of water.

 You pop back up to the surface, grinning like a fool.

“You may be good with a nail, hero,” you croon in the same villain-voice you used when you played with Hornet, “but you will _never_ defeat the mighty Splash Master.”

They’re shaking, the water around them rippling as their whole body vibrates.

“Pure?” you question as you wade over to them. “Are you alright? It was just a joke. I didn’t mean-“

They shake their head, claws reaching out to tickle their fingers along your sides. You yelp, leaping back in surprise. They follow, fingers ghosting up and down your shell until you’re a helpless, giggling mess.

“Oh, you were _laughing_ ,” you breathe in realization when they stop. Pure nods and bumps their forehead against yours.

You grin, claws snaking over to grasp their sides.

“Well now I have to get you back for _that_ …”

*

Today marks another trip to the Nailsmith. Since Pure has training with the King again tonight you won’t have time to make the trip after their training with the Knights. So you go during, temporarily leaving your charge in the capable claws of their teachers.

You hum quietly to yourself as you make your way up to the City Guard’s office. Luckily the Nailsmith is the only trip you have to make this time.

The office is as noisy as ever; the shouts and clangs of sparring echoing down the hall from the training room. The secretary looks up from her paperwork as you enter and waves you over. She looks tired. And strangely weary.

“The Commander is in his office,” she explains as you stop in front of her desk. “I feel I should warn you that he’s…not in the best of moods. Don’t take it to heart. He’s been extra gruff with everyone recently.”

You furrow your brow. “Did something happen?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing concrete. He just hasn’t been getting very much sleep, lately.”

“I see. Thank you for warning me.”

She nods as she goes back to her paperwork, quill darting over the documents slower than usual.

The door to the Commander’s office is slightly ajar, the corner of his heavy desk noticeable through the crack. It’s surprisingly quiet inside. The Commander usually likes to have a record player going while he works on paperwork. You rap your knuckles against the doorframe.

“What is it this time?!” he barks from the other side. “I thought I made it clear that I am to be left alone unless it’s an actual emergency! Can’t any of you idiots fix a damn thing yourselves?!”

“It’s just me, Commander,” you say calmly as you push the door open. If his tone wasn’t enough to shock you his desk definitely is. Papers are scattered everywhere, not a single inch of it is clear. Some even lay on the floor, fluttering slightly with the breeze created by the door. You’ve never seen his office so messy.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “‘Just’ you, eh?  How long have we been doing this, now? Ten years? You think you’d have figured out the routine and could do it yourself. Just go right in a pick a guard,” he rants, waving his claw in the general direction of the training room. “Most of ‘em know the drill by now and would follow you without question but no. You just _have_ to keep bothering me! I thought the King only assigned observant, competent bugs to be his personal retainers?”

Well, _that_ certainly soured any good mood you might have been in. You were expecting him to be grumpy, not outright _mean_.

The hurt, angry look your face squeezes into must snap him out of it because he quickly backpedals.

“Oh, Wyrm, I’m so sorry, lass. I didn’t mean a word of it!” he apologizes but the damage is done. You turn to leave.

“Its fine,” you clip over your shoulder. “I’ll just go ask a guard myself.”

A gentle claw on your forearm stops you. “I truly am sorry, lass,” the Commander repeats quietly, sincerely. “You didn’t deserve any of that. None of you do. It’s just…” he sighs, letting go of your arm to run his claw over his antenna.  “It’s these damn dreams I’ve been having. Somehow I wake up even _more_ tired than before I went to sleep.”

You turn back around to face him, cowed by his sincerity and good-faith show of vulnerability. “You’ve been having nightmares?” you ask softly.

He sighs again, a heavy, weighted sound. “They’re not really nightmares. It’s…it’s hard to explain. It’s like someone is calling to me, pulling me away from myself bit by bit. I wake up feeling a little less like myself every morning. I’m afraid it’s turning me into someone I don’t like; that _no one_ likes.”

You frown deeply, concern etching itself between your furrowed brows. “Have you considered going to the moths for help? I’ve heard that they’re well-versed in the matter of dreams. Some say that they even have ways to access them physically.”

“Aye, I probably should. I was hoping that they’d work themselves out on their own, but…” he sighs, pinching hard between his tired eyes. “Well, you saw how well _that’s_ been working out.”

A moment of silence passes as you struggle to think of an appropriate response. Luckily, the Commander starts speaking again before you can think of anything to say.

“Alright, enough of that,” he states, waving a dismissive claw as he straightens with new resolve. “Thank you for listening lass, truly, but my problems are not yours to worry about. Do you have time for a friendly chat this time ‘round? I’ve got a new tea I think you might like. Some fancy blend imported from Lady Ze’mer’s own homeland.”

You grin as you glance at the hall clock, quickly deciding that you do, indeed, have the time.

“Only if you let me brew it,” you tease as you walk back into his office. “That last batch you made would’ve made a tiktik’s hair curl.”

*

Suspicion pricks at the back of the Pale King’s shell, a gut feeling that he can’t shake. The way the Vessel watches you when they think he’s not looking goes beyond what could be considered…professionally detached. He swears he’s even caught them glancing at the training room clock a few times; almost as if they’re waiting for practice to end. He decides to investigate. After all, what kind of King would he be if he didn’t base his decisions on facts and solid evidence?

The next time you come to retrieve the Vessel from their training with him he makes his move, masking his presence with a spell before following you out into the hall. He listens as you ramble to the Vessel, mostly meaningless drivel about some book you’re reading. He doesn’t begrudge you this; understanding full well how lonely you must feel with a completely mute charge as your main companion and very little time to socialize outside of work. No, it’s not your rambling he’s worried about.

It’s the Vessel’s reaction to it.

He watches in angry (but not surprised) disappointment as the Vessel tilts their head to better listen to you. The feeling only grows worse when they nod, actually _nod_ , at something you say.

Though this is confirmation enough of his suspicions he continues on; following you both all the way to your preferred hot spring.

He has a feeling that this runs even deeper.

Pressing his ear up to the door, he listens.

The click of a lock, then –

A giggle.

“Cut it out, Pure! We haven’t even gotten our cloaks off yet, you impatient goof. Do you _want_ to walk around all sopping wet?”

Your tone is teasing, sultry; hinting at something far more than the possibility of this just being a simple, shared soak.

His claws clench against the door. But still, he waits. He has to be one hundred percent certain.

The soft sounds of heavy cloaks plopping onto a stone floor, of bodies sliding into water. “There. Much better. Now we can – ah! Wyrm, you’re needy today. Here, let me just – oh!” The sound of sloshing water. A gasp. A moan. A breathless “Oh, _Pure._ ”

He’s heard enough.

He wants to break down the door; barge right in and announce your immediate and permanent expulsion from his great kingdom. He wants to see the fear and shame in your eyes as you desperately try to explain yourself, wants to see you fall to your hands and knees as you beg for forgiveness, for mercy. He’s _furious._ At you. At his Vessel.

…At himself.

He stalks away to think.

*

He stops his next training session with the Vessel a bit early.

“That’s enough for now,” he states flatly as the Vessel destroys the last of the false Kingsmoulds. They turn to face him, claws fading back to black as they wait for their next instructions. The King does not give any, instead clasping his claws tightly behind his back as he strides over to stand directly in front of them. They immediately drop to one knee, eyes trained on his face.

“I have a question for you, my Vessel,” the Pale King states, tone deceptively casual. The Vessel doesn’t react.

“Which one of you was it that started this little dalliance of yours?”

The Vessel goes rigid.

Coal black eyes burn into void black ones as he awaits his answer. None come.

“Answer me, _Pure_.”

For a moment it feels like time itself has stopped, like all the air in the room was sucked into the Abyss as they stare each other down. Then, ever so slowly, the Vessel raises a claw and taps a finger against their chest.

The King narrows his eyes.

“Are you just saying that to protect her?”

They vigorously shake their head, frantically taping at their chest again for emphasis.

The King sighs deeply, pinching hard between his eyes as he wonders where and how he went so wrong.

“I’m only going to remind you of this once, Vessel. _No cost too great._ ”

Pure thinks of you. Of your laughter and your pretty smiles. Of your jokes and aimless ramblings. Of your soft sighs and softer touches. They think of the way you read them stories and dance to music on the record player while you go about your chores. Of the way your eyes light up or soften whenever they do something you like.

Of how much it will hurt to lose you.

“ _No mind to think.”_

More than anything Pure wishes that they can’t. That they never could.

_“No will to break.”_

They will make sure it is unbreakable.

_“No voice to cry suffering.”_

They will carry it silently.

_“Born of God and Void.”_

Created with higher purpose. Made to protect. To contain.

To _save_.

_“You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams.”_

It’s not just you they have to protect. All of Hallownest relies on them. Their Father. Their Mother. Their little sister. The Great Knights.

_Everyone._

_“You are the Vessel.”_

_Do not think. Do not hope. Do not speak. Do not…_

_“You are the Hollow Knight.”_

_…_

“You are Hallownest’s only hope. Do not fail it.”

And with that the King takes his leave.

“Good morning, Your Majest- Your Majesty?” you question from the doorway, brow furrowing as you scan the room for your absent King. Huh. He must have had some pressing matter he needed to attend to. Your gaze lands on Pure, kneeling stock-still in the middle of the room.

“…Vessel?” you ask, still cautious.

They stand up. Awaiting orders.

“Grab your things and follow me, please,” you say evenly, just in case someone is nearby enough to hear. They comply, gathering their cloak and nail before following you out of the training room. Once you’re far enough away from the King’s personal quarters to feel safe you soften a bit.

“Rough training session?” you ask quietly. Pure ignores your question, staring straight ahead as you walk towards the hot springs.

“Pure?”

Still no response. A deep frown tugs at the corners of your mouth. You discreetly glance around the hall, wondering if you’re possibly being followed.

It’s completely empty except for the two of you.

Still, you decide its best to wait until you reach the privacy of the hot spring before you press them any further. As soon as its door is locked you turn to them, arms crossed.

“We’re alone now. You can drop the act.”

Pure just stands next to the water, completely still as they watch you with hollow black eyes.

“Did something happen at training?”

Nothing. Just silence and an empty stare.

“Is this some kind of test? Or a joke? Because if it is it’s not funny.”

Not a single nod or shake of the head or twitch of a claw. Your frown morphs into a scowl.

Sick of being ignored, you march over to them, reaching up and grabbing their face before yanking them down into a harsh kiss. You move to kiss down their throat, their chest, your fingers raking down their sides as you desperately try to make them react to _something._

They just take it, completely unresponsive.

You pull back, panting slightly as you glare into their eyes.

An abyss stares back.

Something occurs to you. You step away fully, crossing your arms again.

“Put your cloak and nail on the bench.”

They do so immediately, turning to stare at you when they’re finished.

“Get in the water.”

They do that, too, sliding into the steaming pool without a thought.

Your jaw tightens, teeth clenching as hurt and anger begin to grip at your chest.

“Oh, so _now_ you want to play this game?” you spit venomously. “After acting all…all sweet and touchy with me? Get me to start falling for you just to turn around and go right back to this…this ‘hollow’ dung beetle shit? Is that it?”

Pure just sits unmoving in the water, staring straight ahead at nothing.

“Fine. We’ll play this stupid game.”

Tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, you storm over to sit on the bench, grabbing Pure’s nail as you dig into your bag for your polish. You scrub at it with far more force than necessary, fingers aching with your effort. You sniffle quietly as you work, stopping occasionally to wipe at your face.

Pure just sits unmoving in the water, trying to drown their pain in void.

*

The next two weeks with Pure play out much like your very first.

Tense. Awkward. Silent. Though back then all those feelings had been wholly on your part, you were sure. The Vessel had seemed to feel nothing, hear nothing, react to nothing. 

Now…now you’re not so sure.

Has Pure really reverted back to that state or are they just playing pretend?

Either way you stay quiet out of sheer stubbornness and petty spite as you lead them through the halls. If they want to be the Vessel then you will be the professional, uncaring handler. After all it’s only fair.

…Even though everything about it is eating you up inside.

It had been so hard when you first started; used as you were to talking with your friends and classmates almost daily. The Vessel’s silence and unnatural stillness had unnerved you after so many years of busy, lively classrooms and after-lessons games. But you were the only one of your group to receive an offer to work for the King personally. Everyone else had gone on to fill other positions; spread out across Hallownest and overly large Palace. Oh, a blessed few had tried to keep in touch at first, but after so many incompatible schedules and cancelled meet-ups you’d all just kind-of silently agreed to drift quietly out of each other’s lives.

It didn’t help that your position ate up most of your time; leaving very little opportunity to meet new people. It also required the upmost discretion. Your charge was allowed very little freedom, confined to only a small section of rooms and halls within the Palace. Speaking about them was strictly prohibited except for with a select few confidents. Confidents that didn’t have time for anything other than business and occasional, shallow small-talk. Sure, Isma had reached out to you once or twice but she was so far above your station that you’d never seriously considered her subtle offers. You didn’t want to intrude on the Knights’ tight-knit circle, anyway. They all had much more important things to worry about than the aimless ramblings and shallow interests of a mere Retainer. 

So you started talking to the Vessel.

You had known that it probably wasn’t healthy, attaching yourself to a mute, emotionless being, but it kept you from completely losing your mind. They may not have been able to say anything back, but it was easy enough to pretend that they were at least listening. And the brief few months they _weren’t_ pretending had been too good to be true. Every nod and shake of their head and body vibrating “laugh” brought you a sense of joy and satisfaction that you hadn’t felt in _years_. Every little touch made your shell heat. Every gentle head bump made your heart swell with affection. They had done so much to quench the deep, aching loneliness that had taken root in you over the years; an ache that you didn’t even fully realize was _there_ until they had taken all that away from you.

Now…now you ache more than ever.

At least the Vessel’s training is with Isma and Ogrim today. Maybe if you’re lucky they won’t be too busy to chat for a bit afterwards…

A large bug in a familiar set of purple armor catches your attention as you round a corner; standing with a small entourage of City Guards down the hall. Another familiar bug stands next to him, staring down at something in front of them that you can’t quite make out from around their bulk. You immediately perk at the sight, walking a bit faster to catch up to them.

“Commander! Cycas!” you call out in greeting, the first genuine smile you’ve felt in weeks spreading across your face. “Are you here with that emissary group from Pharloom? I knew they were due to arrive this week but I wasn’t sure which day.”

They don’t acknowledge you, standing eerily still as they continue to stare down at a dark shape on the floor. You falter, steps slowing as the wrongness of the situation begins to soak through your initial excitement.

“Did something happen?” you ask as you slow to a stop a good distance away. You don’t notice the way Pure shifts silently behind you, claw moving to wrap around the hilt of their nail. “Do I need to call for assistance? Is someone hurt?” you ask as you bend down to get a better view of what they’re looking at from between their legs.

You freeze.

It’s a body.

A bug in foreign garb lays unmoving on the ground in a slowly expanding pool of their own blood, a large, clean gash across their chest. The Commander’s and Cycas’ nails are both stained with it.

You scream as you stumble back, your claws flying to your mouth to stifle the sound but it’s too late. They turn around.

Orange. Oh, Wyrm, their eyes are _orange_.

That’s all you can focus on as you stand rooted in place, fear and panic and shock shutting down everything but your racing mind. They barrel towards you faster than you’d think bugs their size ever could, nails raised and ready to strike. 

_No they wouldn’t do this oh Wyrm this has to be a nightmare wakeupwakeupWAKEUP-_

Your world is tilted on its axis as you’re suddenly yanked back, a familiar nail shooting out over your head to plunge straight through the Commander’s chest. Orange infection spews from the wound, staining the marble floors and the front of your cloak. You land hard on your backside as the claw that pulled you away begins to glow a brilliant white, a barrage of Shining Daggers slicing through Cycas just before he can reach you. The rest of the small group of orange-eyed guards is cut down just as easily and soon the nightmare ends almost as quickly as it began.

You sit on the ground in wide-eyed shock, staring at all the bleeding, broken bodies strewn across the previously white hall.

You just barely turn your head in time to vomit all over the floor instead of on your lap.

Claws are on you suddenly, large and strong and _shaking_ as they cup your face and gently turn it to look at their owner. Pure stares down at you for a brief moment before leaning in to press their forehead against yours, body vibrating with…relief? Anger? Fear? It doesn’t really matter. Whatever it is it’s clearly on your behalf.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, speaking your first words other than a command to them in weeks. “I’m…I’m…” this time you really do vomit all over your lap, wincing at the burn of bile and embarrassment. Pure doesn’t care, not flinching away in the slightest as they continue to hold you with shaking claws.

The sound of hurried, armored footsteps echo from down the hallway. Pure pulls away, nail drawn and free claw burning white with magic.

“Oh _Wyrm_ …”

The breathless statement pulls you out of your budding panic and you lean around Pure to see who said it. Isma and Ogrim rush into view, eyes wide as they stop to take in the scene before them. Their gaze trails from the dead emissaries and over the orange-stained guards before landing on you and Pure; who still stands armed and ready.

“Stand down, Vessel,” Isma says calmly. “We are not here to harm.”

Pure leans down, bending so that their face is nearly level with hers. Isma’s claw moves to rest on the hilt of her nail, body otherwise still and unblinking as void black eyes boor into her own. After a long, breathless moment Pure pulls back, stepping out of the way before straightening to stand still and silent once more.

“What happened?” Isma asks, claw falling to rest by her side as she strides over to crouch in front of you, giving you a quick once-over to asses for injuries.

“We…we walked into it,” you explain, voice trembling. “I was just leading Pure to practice. The guards…they…they killed the emissaries. Then they tried to kill us. Pure…Pure stopped them.”

“Pure?” Ogrim asks.

Your blood turns to ice. “The Vessel.”

“…I see,” Isma responds solemnly, the weight of her gaze making you wholly aware that she’s come to a conclusion far beyond your basic report. She stands up and turns to her fellow Great Knight. “Ogrim, please lead them back to her personal quarters to recuperate. Afterwards we’ll need your help with the clean-up. I’ll join you once I’m finished reporting this to the King.”

Ogrim nods. “Yes ma’am.”

Panic once again grips at your gut as you watch her turn and march towards the throne room. _She knows. Oh, Wyrm, she knows she knows she KNOWS._

“Can you stand?” Ogrim asks gently, startling you slightly as he squats down to be eye-level with you.

“Y-yeah,” you answer as you attempt to do so on shaky legs. He straightens and offers you a claw, which you take gratefully. Your knees buckle after the second step, threatening to give out. Ogrim catches you before you can fall, steadying you with an arm around your waist. You lean into him with a hiccup, breath hitching as stress and every other overwhelming emotion threatens to give way to tears. As you pass by the Commander and Cycas you bury your face against his shoulder, desperately trying to keep the sight from searing itself into your memory even though you know it’s already too late.

You manage to hold yourself together all the way back to your room, Pure following silently. You don’t say anything as you unlock the door to your quarters, Ogrim and Pure following you into the kitchen as you shakily stumble your way over to the sink to scrub your face and rise out your mouth with ice cold water.

“I’m sorry,” Ogrim says sincerely when you finally shut the water off, the genuine sympathy in his tone making your heart ache even more. “I know you and the Commander were fairly close.”

“Yeah…” you start, trying to think of something, anything else to say in his honor; something heartfelt and profound. All you can conjure up are images, memories of the Commander’s gruff face and kind eyes. Memories now tinged with orange. Your throat tightens, your eyes stinging. “…yeah.”

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make any of this better, but if you ever need to talk I’ll listen. I’ve…I’ve been where you are. It never gets any easier to see, but the first time is always the most jarring.”

“Thank you, Ogrim. I appreciate it.”

“Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”

You shake your head, grip tightening around the counter’s edge as you stay hunkered over the sink. “No. Thank you, though. I’ll…” you swallow around a hard lump in your throat, threatening to choke you. “I’ll be alright.”

“Someone will probably be by later to check on you. If not today then tomorrow morning. I know it will be difficult, but try to get some rest.”

You nod, still not looking at him. Out of your peripheral you see him turn to leave, hear him walk towards the front door. His footsteps pause in the entryway of your kitchen.

“Take care of her, alright?” 

Silence is his only answer. You hear the door shut behind him as he leaves.

“We…we should probably wash these cloaks,” you murmur hoarsely after a moment, looking down at your orange stained clothes.

_Or, better yet, burn them…_ you think with a shudder.

But the practical part of your brain that’s still functioning wins out and soon you find yourself in your modest bathroom, your and Pure’s cloaks laid out in the tub as you try to rinse the worst of it off with the shower head. Your stomach churns at the sight of the sickly orange water swirling down the drain, threatening to revolt again before you finally reign yourself back in.

You leave them to soak, moving back out into your living room to turn on your record player as loud as it can be without annoying your neighbors before heading into the kitchen to make tea.

“Do you want some?” you ask Pure as casually as you can manage, trying to ignore the shaking of your claws as you reach into your cabinet for a mug. It slips out of your grasp, shattering against the tile floor into dozens of sharp little pieces.

“ _Shit_ ,” you hiss as you fall unthinkingly to your knees, trying to scoop up the biggest pieces into your palm. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Large claws gently wrap around your wrists, stilling their shaking slightly.

“What?” you snap, glaring up at the tall bug hunkering before you.

They nod towards the trashcan and your gaze follows, eyes landing on the broom and dustpan next to it.

“Right,” you breathe, head bowing in shame at your uncalled-for snappishness. “Right. Sorry. That would probably be a better idea.”

Pure takes over fixing the tea as you sweep up the mess, Marissa’s sweet voice filling the silence between you. You try to think of other things to keep you busy while you wait for the water to boil, desperate for distraction.

“You know what?” you suddenly blurt, striding over to the stove and turning the electric burner off. “Screw tea. What we need is wine.”

You turn and start digging through your pantry, dragging out the bottle you keep there for the days that needed it. And, Wyrm, did this day ever need it.

“You want some?” you ask Pure as you pour a generous amount straight into your empty tea mug, proper wine glasses be damned. Pure takes one sniff of the still-open bottle and shudders before shaking their head.

“Suit yourself,” you say with a shrug, taking a large swig from your cup.

You down the whole mug in no time flat and pour yourself another before moving out into the living room to curl up on your couch, Pure settling on the floor next to you.

“…I talked the Commander’s ear off the first chance he let me,” you murmur several minutes later when the wine has finally kicked in, calming your shakes and making things feel warm and hazy. You swirl the last bit of wine in your cup lazily, staring at it blankly for a moment before downing it in a shot. With a deep sigh you set the empty mug on your coffee table with a heavy thunk, settling back against the couch and leaning against Pure’s side. Their arm immediately wraps around your shoulders, comforting and secure.

“He was trying to finish some paper work,” you continue. “But instead of nicely kicking me out he just smiled and nodded along and let me ramble at him for the better part of an hour. I think he knew I was lonely. He became the closest thing I had to a friend after that.”

Your breath hitches, eyes watering as tears build up in the corners and spill down your cheeks. “I’m going to miss him.”

Pure’s grip tightens around you, body shuddering against yours. You reach up and pat their arm, reassuring.

“You did what you had too, Pure. The only other choice was letting him kill us. And that…thing…you killed wasn’t the Commander anyway. Not really. It was like…like something else was using his body.”

You hiccup as you snuggle up against their side, as close as you can get. “At least I didn’t lose you, too. I was so afraid that you’d really gone back to being hollow. Or that you suddenly hated me and regretted everything. I was so hurt and angry I could barely stand it.”

Pure gently scoops you up and sets you in their lap, your back pressed against their front as their long arms wrap tightly around your middle and their body curls around you. They’re shuddering, shell vibrating against you as they lean over to press their forehead against the top of your head.

“Please don’t do that again,” you plead quietly, chest hitching as you lean your head back to press your forehead to theirs. “I don’t think my heart could take it.”

Pure just hugs you tighter.

*

“ ** _All_** of them?!”

“Unfortunately so, Your Majesty,” Isma confirms gravely. “The corpses of the Commander and all five of his guards were bleeding orange Infection. None of the emissaries’ bodies showed any signs of it. We’re lucky the Vessel arrived on the scene before anyone else could fall victim to their husks.”

The Pale King scrubs his claws down his face, claws burning white-hot with his barely-contained urge to incinerate something in his frustration. “You said you left the Vessel with retainer ________?”

“I did, Your Majesty. Would you like me to retrieve it for you?”

The King sighs deeply as he shakes his head, claws slowly fading back to their usual brilliant white. “No, that won’t be necessary. We have many things to prepare before its presence is needed. It seems my plan will need to be put into effect a bit early. I’ll send my medics to assist you and Ogrim with the recovery of the bodies. Once you’re finished with that you are both to wait for me in the main meeting hall. We have much to go over.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Isma confirms with a bow. The Pale King turns to the retainer in the corner as she leaves.

“Have word sent to the Dreamers immediately,” the Pale King states. “We are to seal the Vessel tomorrow morning. After that you are to find the remaining Knights and inform them that their immediate presence is required in the main meeting hall.”

“Right away, Your Majesty!”

Alone in his throne room, the Pale King allows himself a moment to breathe. It would be unbecoming of him to allow the fury burning in his chest to manifest through his still-buzzing claws. The last thing he needs is another mess to clean up.

And oh, what a mess this is.

He’d hoped to take care of the problem quietly; preferably in the dead of night while most of his subjects slept. They’d wake up the next morning well-rested and with their own minds intact; finally free from the being that threatened their free-will and his great kingdom. Both the cause and the resulting Infection would finally fade into obscurity where they belonged.

_And they still will_ , he tells himself. He just needs to take care of a few hiccups first.

The Commander is a great loss. One he is genuinely, deeply saddened by. He was a good bug; a bit gruff, maybe, but obviously kind and competent and not easily replaced. The Pale King knows that he will be greatly missed by many. The young guards were also unfortunate casualties. He dreads the letters he will have to write to their families.

The Pharloom emissaries will be a bit more…complicated…but the roads between kingdoms are long and dangerous and it is not unheard of for travelers to be found dead or go missing. Better their loss be written off as an unfortunate accident than for the rumors regarding the Infection to be confirmed…

His thoughts turn to his Vessel as he makes his way to the meeting hall, back stiff and claws clasped tightly behind it. He already knew that it was too late to try again, that he’d have to make do with what he has, but he’d hoped to have at least a few more months to try and find a way to rectify the situation. The Vessel had done such a remarkable job at playing hollow after their little “chat” in the training room that he’d dared to hope that the situation had remedied itself. After Isma’s report, though…

He sighs deeply, shoulders hunching as he unclasps this claws to massage his temples. The way she had described it had been objective, but he was able to pick out the telling little details. The Vessel had been standing in front of you, armed and ready to fight. A truly hollow being would have put their weapon down as soon as the immediate threat was eliminated; only drawing it again if another weapon was turned upon them. No, it’s obvious they had been protecting you. He imagines they’re comforting you now. No doubt you were greatly shaken by what you had witnessed.

He figures the least he can do is offer the small mercy of one last night together.

His heart twinges at the thought before he can stomp it down, fiercely reminding himself that the Vessel’s sacrifice is for the greater good. Through it the citizens of Hallownest can forever live in peace and freedom; can grow and thrive and truly _live_. For that he’d give anything.

His mantra rolls through his mind, comforting in its absolution.

_No cost too great…_

 


End file.
